Flora Lyndsay Volume I Part 15

as the poet has truly described them, making the snows of age descend upon the rose crowned brow of youth.

Sorrowfully Flora returned to her pretty little cottage, which presented a scene of bustle and confusion baffling description. Everything was out of place and turned upside down. Corded trunks and packages filled up the pa.s.sages and doorways; and formed stumbling blocks for kind friends and curious neighbours, who crowded the house. Strange dogs forced their way in after their masters, and fought and yelped in undisturbed pugnacity. The baby cried, and no one was at leisure to pacify her, and a cheerless and uncomfortable spirit filled the once peaceful and happy home.

Old Captain Kitson was in his glory; hurrying here and there, ordering, superintending, and a.s.sisting the general confusion, without in the least degree helping on the work. He had taken upon himself the charge of hiring the boat which was to convey the emigrants on board the steamer; and he stood chaffering on the lawn for a couple of hours with the sailors, to whom she belonged, to induce them to take a s.h.i.+lling less than the sum proposed.

Tired with the altercation, and sorry for the honest tars, Lyndsay told the master of the boat to yield to the old Captain's terms, and he would make up the difference. The sailor answered with a knowing wink, and appeared reluctantly to consent to old Kitson's wishes.

"There, Mrs. Lyndsay, my dear, I told you these fellows would come to my terms rather than lose a good customer," cried the old man, rubbing his hands together in an ecstasy of self-gratulation. "Leave me to make a bargain; the rogues cannot cheat me with their d.a.m.ned impositions. The _Leaftenant_ is too soft with these chaps; I'm an old sailor-they can't come over me. I have made them take one _pound_ for the use of their craft, instead of _one and twenty_ s.h.i.+llings. 'Take care of the pence,'

my dear, 'and the pounds will take care of themselves.' I found that out, long before poor Richard marked it down in his log."

Then sidling up to Flora, and putting his long nose into her face, he whispered in her ear,-

"Now, my dear gall, don't be offended with an old friend; but if you have any old coats or hats that _Leaftenant_ Lyndsay does not think worth packing up, I shall be very glad of them, for my Charles. Mrs. K.

is an excellent hand at transmogrifying things, and in a large family such articles never come amiss."

Charles was the Captain's youngest son. A poor idiot, who, thirty years of age, had the appearance of an overgrown boy. The other members of the Captain's _large_ family were all married and settled prosperously in the world. Flora felt truly ashamed of the old man's meanness, but was glad to repay his trifling services in a way suggested by himself. The weather for the last three weeks had been unusually fine, but towards the evening of this memorable 30th of May, large ma.s.ses of clouds began to rise in the north-west, and the sea changed its azure hue to a dull leaden grey. Old Kitson shook his head prophetically.

"There's a change of weather at hand, Mrs. Lyndsay; you may look out for squalls before six o'clock to-morrow. The wind s.h.i.+fts every minute, and there's an ugly swell rolling in upon the sh.o.r.e."

"Ah, I hope it will be fine," said Flora, looking anxiously up at the troubled sky; "it is so miserable to begin a long journey in the rain.

Perhaps it will pa.s.s off during the night in a thunder-shower."

The old man whistled, shut one eye, and looked knowingly at the sea with the other.

"Women know about as much of the weather as your nurse does of handling a rope. Whew! but there's a gale coming; I'll down to the beach, and tell the lads to haul up the boats, and make all snug before it bursts,"

and away toddled the old man, full of the importance of his mission.

It was the last night at home-the last social meeting of kindred friends on this side the grave. Flora tried to appear cheerful, but the forced smile upon the tutored lips, rendered doubly painful the tears kept back in the swollen eyes; the vain effort of the sorrowful in heart to be gay. Alas! for the warm hearts, the generous friends.h.i.+ps, the kindly greetings of dear Old England, when would they be hers again? Flora's friends at length took leave, and she was left with her husband alone.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DEPARTURE.

It was the dawn of day when Flora started from a broken, feverish sleep, aroused to consciousness by the heavy roaring of the sea, as the huge billows thundered against the stony beach. To spring from her bed and draw back the curtains of the window which commanded a full view of the bay, was but the work of a moment. How quickly she let it fall in despair over the cheerless prospect it presented to her sight! Far as the eye could reach the sea was covered with foam. Not a sail was visible, and a dark leaden sky was pouring down torrents of rain.

"What a morning!" she muttered to herself, as she stole quietly back to bed. "It will be impossible to put to sea to-day."

The sleep which had shunned her pillow during the greater part of the night, gently stole over her, and "wrapped her senses in forgetfulness;"

and old Kitson, two hours later, twice threw a pebble against the window, before she awoke.

"_Leaftenant_ Lyndsay-_Leaftenant_ Lyndsay!" shouted the Captain, in a voice like a speaking-trumpet-"wind and tide wait for no man. Up, up, and be doing."

"Ay, ay," responded Lyndsay, rubbing his eyes, and going to the window.

"See what a storm the night has been brewing for you," continued old Kitson. "It blows great guns, and there's rain enough to float Noah's ark. Waters is here, and wants to see you. He says that his small craft won't live in a sea like this. You'll have to put off your voyage till the steamer takes her next trip."

"That's bad," said Lyndsay, hurrying on his clothes, and joining the old sailor on the lawn. "Is there any chance, Kitson, of this holding up?"

"None. This is paying us off for three weeks fine weather, and may last for several days-at all events, till night. The steamer will be rattling down in an hour, with the wind and tide in her favour. Were you once on board, _Leaftenant_, you might snap your fingers at this capful of wind."

"We must make up our minds to lose our places," said Lyndsay, in a tone of deep vexation.

"You have taken your places then?"

"Yes; and made a deposit of half the pa.s.sage money."

"Humph! Now, _Leaftenant_ Lyndsay, that's a thing I never do. I always take my chance. I would rather lose my place in a boat, or a coach, than lose my money. But young fellows like you never learn wisdom. Experience is all thrown away upon you. But as we can't remedy the evil now, we had better step in and get a morsel of breakfast. This raw air makes one hungry. The wind may lull by that time." Then gazing at the sky with one of his keen orbs, while he shaded with his hand the other, he continued-"It rains too hard for it to blow long at this rate; and the season of the year is all in your favour. Go in-go in, and get something to eat, and we will settle over your wife's good coffee what is best to be done."

Lyndsay thought with the Captain, that the storm would abate, and he returned to the anxious Flora, to report the aspect of things without.

"It is a bad omen," said Flora, pouring out the coffee. "If we may judge of the future by the present-it looks dark enough."

"Don't provoke me into anger, Flora, by talking in such a childish manner, and placing reliance upon an exploded superst.i.tion. Women are so fond of prognosticating evil, that I believe they are disappointed if it does not happen as they say."

"Well, reason may find fault with us if she will," said Flora; "but we are all more or less influenced by these mysterious presentiments; and suffer trifling circ.u.mstances to give a colouring for good or evil to the pa.s.sing hour. My dear, cross philosopher, hand me the toast."

Flora's defence of her favourite theory was interrupted by the arrival of two very dear friends, who had come from a distance, through the storm, to bid her good-bye.

Mr. Hawke, the elder of the twain, was an author of considerable celebrity in his native county, and a most kind and excellent man. He brought with him his second son, a fine lad of twelve years of age, to place under Lyndsay's charge. James Hawke had taken a fancy to settle in Canada, and a friend of the family, who was located in the Backwoods of that far region, had written to his father, that he would take the lad, and initiate him in the mysteries of the axe, if he could find a person to bring him over. Lyndsay had promised to do this, and the boy, who had that morning parted with his mother and little brothers and sisters, for the first time in his life, in spite of the elastic spirits of youth, looked sad and dejected.

Mr. Hawke's companion was a young Quaker, who had known Flora from a girl, and had always expressed the greatest interest in her welfare.

Adam Mansel was a handsome, talented man, whose joyous disposition, and mirthful humour, could scarcely be trammelled down by the severe conventional rules of the Society to which he belonged. Adam's exquisite taste for music, and his great admiration for horses and dogs, savoured rather of the camp of the enemy. But his love for these forbidden carnalities was always kept within bounds, and only known to a few very particular friends.

"Friend Flora," he said, taking her hand, and giving it a most hearty and cordial shake, "this is a sad day to those who have known thee long, and loved thee well; and a foul day for the commencement of such an important journey. Bad beginnings, they say, make bright endings; so there is hope for thee yet in the stormy cloud."

"Flora, where are your omens now?" said Lyndsay, triumphantly. "Either you or friend Adam must be wrong."

"Or the proverb I quoted, say rather," returned Adam. "Proverbs often bear a double meaning, and can be interpreted as well one way as the other. The ancients were cunning fellows in this respect, and were determined to make themselves true prophets at any rate."

"What a miserable day," said the poet, turning from the window, where he had been contemplating thoughtfully the gloomy aspect of things without.

His eye fell sadly upon his son. "It is enough to chill the heart."

"When I was a boy at school," said Adam, "I used to think that G.o.d sent all the rain upon holidays, on purpose to disappoint us of our sport. I found that most things in life happened contrary to our wishes; and I used to pray devoutly, that all the Sat.u.r.days might prove wet, firmly believing that it would be sure to turn out the reverse."

"According to your theory, Mansel," said Mr. Hawke, "Mrs. Lyndsay must have prayed for a very fine day."

"Dost thee call this a holiday?" returned the Quaker, with a twinkle of quiet humour in his bright brown eyes.

Mr. Hawke suppressed a sigh, and his glance again fell on his boy; and, hurrying to the window, he mechanically drew his hand across his eyes.

Here the old Captain came bustling in, full of importance, chuckling, rubbing his hands, and shaking his dripping fearnaught, with an air of great satisfaction.

"You will not be disappointed, my dear," addressing himself to Mrs.

Lyndsay. "The wind has fallen off a bit; and, though the sea is too rough for the small craft, Palmer, the captain of the pilot-boat, has been with me; and, for the consideration of two pounds (forty s.h.i.+llings),-a large sum of money, by-the-bye,-I will try and beat him down to thirty,-he says he will launch the great boat, and man her with twelve stout young fellows, who will take you, bag and baggage, on board the steamer, though the gale were blowing twice as stiff. You have no more to fear in that fine boat, than you have sitting at your ease in that arm-chair. So make up your mind, my dear; for you have no time to lose."