Part 69 (2/2)

”No signs of him!”

Leslie shook his head and spoke in a whisper.

”I'll be off again as soon as I can get a fresh crew, and search till I do find him. For Heaven's sake, sir, do take them home!”

It was a kindly whisper, but Louise heard every word, and shuddered as she turned, and hid her face in her father's breast. For she knew what it meant; it was to spare her the agonising sight, when the sea, according to its wont, threw something up yonder among the rugged stones, where, to use the fishermen's words, the current bit hardest on the sh.o.r.e. She fought hard to keep back the wild cry that struggled in her breast; but it was in vain, and many a rough fellow turned aside as he heard the poor girl's piteous wail out there in the suns.h.i.+ne of that glorious morn.

”Harry! brother! what shall I do?”

George Vine's lips parted as he bent down over his child. ”The Lord gave, and--”

His voice failed, but his lips completed poor old stricken Job's words, and there was a pause. Then he seemed to draw himself up, and held out his hand for a moment to Duncan Leslie.

”Luke!” he said then calmly and gravely. ”Your arm too. Let us go home.”

The little crowd parted left and right, and every hat was doffed in the midst of a great silence, as the two old men walked slowly up the rough pier, supporting the stricken girl.

Duncan Leslie followed, and as they pa.s.sed on through the narrow lane of humble, sympathising people of the port, these turned in and slowly followed, two and two, bare-headed, as if it were a funeral procession.

Just then, high above the top of the grand cliff, a lark soared up, sprinkling the air as from a censer of sound, with his silvery notes joyous, loud, and thrilling; and one patriarchal fisherman, who had seen many a scene of sorrow in his time, whispered to the mate walking at his side--

”Ay, lad, and so it is; midst of life we are in death.”

”Ah,” sighed his companion; ”but on such a morn as this!”

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

AT THE GRANITE HOUSE.

The Vines had hardly reached their home when quietly and in a furtive way boat after boat put off down the harbour, from the little punt belonging to some lugger, right up to the heavy fis.h.i.+ng-craft, rowed by some six or eight men. There was no communication one with the other; no general order had been given, but, with one consent, all were bent upon the same mission, and hour after hour, every ma.s.s of weedy rock, chasm, hollow, and zorn was scanned, where it was known that the current was likely to throw up that which it had engulfed; but, though every inch of sh.o.r.e was searched, the task proved to be without avail, and the brothers, seated together in the quaint, old-fas.h.i.+oned dining-room, waiting to be summoned for the reception of their dead, sat waiting, and without receiving the call.

Louise had refused to leave them, and had clung to her father, asking to be allowed to stay; but no sooner was the consent obtained than it proved to be useless, for the poor girl was completely prostrated by the excitement and horror of the past night, and had to be helped up to her couch.

And there the brothers sat in silence, George Vine calm, stern, and with every nerve on the strain; Uncle Luke watching him furtively without attempting to speak.

When any words had pa.s.sed between the brothers, the old cynic's voice sounded less harsh, and its tones were sympathetic, as he strove to be consolatory to the suffering man. They had been seated some time together in silence, when Uncle Luke rose, and laid his hand upon his brother's shoulder.

”I don't know what to say to you, George,” he whispered softly. ”For all these years past I've been, what you know, a childless, selfish man; but I feel for you, my lad--I feel for you, and I'd bear half your agony, if I could.”

George Vine turned upon him with a piteous smile, and took the hand resting on his shoulder.

”You need not speak, Luke,” he said sadly. ”Do you think we have lived all these years without my understanding my brother, and knowing what he is at heart?”

Luke shook his head, gripped the hand which held his firmly, but could not speak.

”I am going to bear it like a man, please G.o.d; but it is hard, Luke, hard; and but for poor Louise's sake I could wish that my journey was done.”

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