Part 31 (1/2)
In less than an hour's time we saw them strolling along the path which led to our nest. As they approached we arose and went to meet them, when the captain with all due form introduced us, ”The Honourable Mr. and Mrs. Craven, Colonel Percival, Mr. Vavasour, and his sister, Miss Vavasour.” Mrs. Percival had remained on board, as her little boy of four or five years old was not well. Miranda, rather to my surprise, was perfectly unembarra.s.sed, and talked away to the stranger ladies as if she had been accustomed to the society business all her life.
I could see that they were pleased and surprised at her appearance, as also gratified with the manner in which she invited them to inspect our simple dwelling.
”Oh! what a charming nest of a place--quite a bower of bliss!” cried Miss Vavasour. ”I declare I will come here when I am married and spend my honeymoon. What shade and fragrance combined! What a lovely crystal lakelet to bathe in! and I suppose, Mrs. Telfer, you go out fis.h.i.+ng in that dear canoe? What an ideal life!”
”I quite agree with you and feel quite envious,” said Mrs. Craven.
”Charlie and I have been married too long to have our honeymoon over again; but it would have been idyllic, wouldn't it, Charlie?”
”Splendid place to smoke in,” a.s.sented her husband. ”No hounds meet nearer than Sydney, though, I presume. Drawback rather, isn't it?”
”You men are always thinking of horses, and hounds or guns,” pouted Miss Vavasour. ”What can one want with them here? What can life offer more than this endless summer, this fairy bower, this crystal wave, this air which is a living perfume? It is an earthly paradise.”
”And the beloved object,” added Mrs. Craven, with quiet humour. ”You have left him out. It would be an incomplete paradise without Adam.”
”Oh! here he comes!” exclaimed Miranda (as she told me afterwards), who had not been attending to the enthusiastic speech, but was watching bird-like for my approach.
”Who? Adam?” said Miss Vavasour, laughingly.
”Oh, no!” answered she, smiling at the apparent absurdity. ”You must excuse me a little, but I was looking out for Hilary.”
”Now, then, ladies!” said the cheerful voice of Captain Carryall, ”we must get back to our boat. It's dangerous to stop ash.o.r.e all night, isn't it, Miranda? We must leave you to finish your packing. It's a long voyage to Sydney, eh? It may be years before you see the island again.”
We all went down together to the boat, where the visitors were seen off by all the young people of the island, the girls wondering with respectful admiration at the English ladies' dresses, hats, boots, and shoes--in fact, at everything they did and said as well. It was a revelation to them, not that they had any envious feeling about those cherished possessions. They had been too well trained for that, and were secure in the guidance of their deeply-rooted religious faith and lofty moral code. On the other hand, their visitors admired sincerely the n.o.ble forms and free, graceful bearing of the island maidens, as well as the splendid athletic development of the men.
”Here, you Thursday Quintal, come and show these ladies how you can handle a steer-oar,” called out the captain. ”He was the boat-steerer on board the _Florentia_ one voyage, and steered in the pulling race for whaleboats at the regatta on anniversary day, which we won the year before last in Sydney harbour. We'll bring you ash.o.r.e in the morning.”
”Ay, ay, captain,” said the young fellow, showing his splendid teeth in a pleasant smile. ”It will feel quite natural to take an oar in a boat of yours again.”
The wind had freshened during the afternoon, and the rollers on the beach lifted the whaleboat as she came up to the landing rather higher than the ladies fancied. However, they were carefully seated, and at the captain's word, ”Give way, my lads,” the crew picked her up in great style, while Quintal, standing with easy grace at the stern, the sixteen foot oar in his strong grasp, directed her course with instinctive skill so as to avoid the growing force of the wave. As he stood there--tall, muscular, glorious in the grace and dignity of early manhood--he seemed the embodiment of a sculptor's dream.
”What a magnificent figure!” said Mrs. Craven to her young friend. ”How rare it is to see such a form in Mayfair!”
”I surmise, as our American girl said at Honolulu,” replied Miss Vavasour, ”that you might look a long time before you saw such a man among our 'Johnnies'; and what eyes and teeth he has! Really I feel inclined to rebel. Here's this Mr. Telfer, too, and what a grand-looking fellow he is, and an English gentleman besides in all his ways. He can make his way to this out of the way speck in the ocean, and secure a Miranda for a life companion--glorious girl she is too--while we poor English spins have to wait till a pa.s.sable _pretendu_ comes along,--old, bald, stupid, or diminutive, as the case may be,--and are bound to take him under penalty of dying old maids. I call it rank injustice, and I'd head a revolution tomorrow; and oh!--”
The interjection which closed the speech of this ardent woman's righter was caused by the onward course of a breaking wave, which was not avoided so deftly as usual, and splashed the speaker and Mrs. Craven.
”Hulloa! Quintal, what are you about?” said the captain, ”is this your steering that I've been blowing about to these ladies and gentlemen?
Miss Vavasour! I'm afraid it's your fault, you know the rule aboard s.h.i.+p? Pa.s.sengers are requested not to speak to the man at the wheel.”
”But there's no regulation, captain, that the man at the steer-oar is not to look at the pa.s.sengers,” said Mrs. Craven. ”However, here we are nearly on board, so there's no harm done, and we're only a trifle damped.”
Clear-hued--calm--waveless--dawned our farewell day. I was glad of it.
Rain and storm-clouds lower the spirits more distinctly when one is about to make a departure than at any other time, besides the inconvenience of wet or bedraggled garments. It was the Sabbath day, and the pastor arranged a special service in commemoration of Miranda's marriage and departure from the island. All the s.h.i.+p's company that could be spared came, of course; the visitors made a point of attending.
The little church was crowded. Except the youngest children and their guardians, every soul on the island was there.
After the Church of England service, which the islanders had at their fingers' ends, and in which they all most reverently joined, hymns were sung, in which the rich voices of the young girls were heard to great advantage. There was a strange and subtle harmony pervading the part-singing, which seemed natural to the race, more particularly in those parts in which the whole of the congregation joined. As Miranda played on the harmonium, it may have occurred to her friends and playmates for the last time, many of them could not restrain their tears. The aged pastor after the Liturgy preached a feeling and sympathetic address, which certainly went to the hearts of all present.
He made particular allusion to our union and departure.
”One of the children of the island,” he said, ”who had endeared herself to all by her unselfish kindness of heart, who had been marked out by uncommon gifts, both mental and physical, was to leave them that day.