Part 3 (1/2)

”I want to see him so much. Couldn't I go back with you?”

”Don't you remember I told you the other evening he might start before I reached India again? Don't you want to go ash.o.r.e and see Salem? Ask Miss Rachel to get you ready.”

Rachel was beckoning to her. ”Let us go up on deck,” she said. ”It's a strange country to me as well as to you. And I fancy the men want to talk.”

She crossed the cabin slowly, not quite certain what she did desire most, except to see her father.

”You will have a rather sorry task. But Captain Ant'ny would have it so.

He wanted to feel that she would be among friends. He had the fullest confidence that you could manage wisely. There is a great box of papers, instructions, etc. You are appointed her guardian and trustee.

I've brought boxes of stuff that the officers will have to go through.

But the legal matters you may take with you. He tried to make it as easy as he could. She will have considerable of a fortune, and more to come when matters get settled on the other side. A cousin of the Bannings came out,--English are great hands to keep things in the family. But it is one of the biggest importing houses out there and it owes its success to the long and wise head of Captain Anthony. They want young Banning in it and the matter was about settled when we came away, but the payments will run over several years. All these papers will be sent to you. The Bannings are upright business men, and I think you need have no fear.

But the child's fortune is to be invested on this side of the water. Oh, you cannot realize what a trial it was to give up all thoughts of ending his days here.”

Captain Corwin brushed some tears from his honest, weather-beaten face.

”But if he had started earlier----”

”He would not believe the trouble would prove fatal. And when it was declared there was so much to put in order. Then he could not bear to think of leaving his wife alone there, though it's only the sh.e.l.l after all, and, if we believe the Good Book, we shall see the real part over there that was so much to us. But he could not explain the parting to the child, though death is such a common thing out there. Yet it _is_ hard to believe our own can die. We are never ready for that. How you will manage----”

The customs officers had come. Captain Corwin went out to meet them.

Chilian Leverett dropped into the well-worn leather-covered chair that had been fine in its day. A heavy burthen had been laid upon him. He was not fond of business. Cousin Giles might be of some a.s.sistance; he grasped at the thought as if he had been a drowning man and this the straw. And the child, somehow, was different from the average child, he felt; though he was not certain what the average child would unfold day after day. What would Elizabeth think? Eunice he could count on. Though she yielded on many points in that tacit sort of way, she was by no means an echo of her sister.

The three men entered the cabin. Chilian was no stranger to the officials, who greeted him cordially and who sympathized with Captain Anthony Leverett's untimely ending, as he was hardly past middle life.

”Why, it will be quite a change to have a child in your household,” said Josiah Ward. ”But if she is like mine, I advise you not to give her the run of your study. But there are two ladies to look after her;” and he smiled.

It was surmised that Mr. Ward, a widower of two years' standing, had glanced more than once in the direction of Miss Eunice Leverett.

Rachel came back at this juncture. The little girl had an accession of shyness and would only nod to the strangers. Then they made ready to leave the vessel. Chilian took his j.a.panned case of important papers; the rest of the luggage would be sent after inspection.

A primitive street it was in those days, and the fine wharves of the present were rather rude if busy places. Over beyond they could see the river,--South River,--and that was alive with various small craft.

”It seems almost like home,” said Rachel Winn, pausing to take a survey.

”You do not find this rural aspect in India.”

”How long were you there?” asked Chilian.

”Seven years. I went out with my brother, who had just married my dearest friend. He died the third year, and she soon after married a military man. Then I took charge of a little lame boy and was mostly up in the mountains until he was sent to England, when Captain Leverett's hospitable doors opened to me. Believe me, I was sorry to leave him at this crisis. Yet it was his wish;” and she glanced at Cynthia.

”Why did we come away?” demanded the child pa.s.sionately. ”Oh, Rachel, are you sure father will come? It takes so long, so long;” and there were tears in her voice.

”Here we are!” exclaimed Chilian.

There was a white picket fence across the sort of courtyard that had a broad paved path leading up to the front door, bordered by shrubs that would presently be in bloom, and s.p.a.ces between for smaller plants.

This was the delight of Eunice's heart. A square but rather ornate porch, with fluted columns, supporting the outer edge of the roof, and an elaborately carved hall-door with a fanlight overhead. The stoop stood up some five steps, and at the sides there were benches for out-of-doors comfort on summer nights. A bra.s.s knocker, with a lion's head, announced visitors. Chilian, however, let himself in with his latchkey. But both sisters met the party in the hall.