CHAPTER XI.

SAILING ORDERS.

THE sea was not calm enough the next day to allow the Newlyn fishermen to go out in their boats, but it was not raging as on the previous night, though wise heads said that at the turn of the tide the waves would come up almost as wildly as on the previous evening.

The fishermen stood together in knots through Newlyn, talking over the last night's gale, and retailing the news that one and another had picked up by the way.

The streets and rough pathways gave evidence of the storm; seaweed lay in large quantities everywhere, while on the shore they were gathering it up into heaps ready to cart away to manure the fields. One little garden which lay exposed to the seawall was literally washed away, and where flowers had been on the previous day, there was seaweed; while the cockle shells that had ornamented the borders were strewn about in wild disorder.

Captain Nance felt very weakly; he found it difficult to leave his bed at all; but his brave spirit went far to sustain him, and with the assistance of his daughter, he was placed in his accustomed chair by dinner-time.

John Trevan came home with a sad list of accidents that had befallen different vessels along the coast, and also said that an American ship had been wrecked in Lamorna Cove, "and only one poor fellow saved, who lies ill at Tressider's cottage," he added.

"He'll be well looked after there," remarked Mrs. Trevan. "I wonder who he is, and whether he was homeward bound. We must see if he has lost his all, and help him, John, if he is in want. You will meet Tressider either to-morrow or the next day, when he comes to market, so mind you ask him some particulars."

John nodded his assent; he knew why his wife was so anxious to hear about this wrecked man; it was her tribute to Willy's memory.

"We've not heard the extent of the damages," said Captain Nance. "There's been more mischief done; you may depend upon it many lives were lost last night. Some, I dare say, prayed when danger threatened, as the disciples did of old,—

"'Lord, save us: we perish.'

"But others, it may be, found a watery grave without having time to cry for mercy. There are many sorrowful hearts, and anxious ones, too, about our world to-day."

Here grandfather was interrupted by a tap at the door. Dorothy, who was sitting close by, opened it.

"Here's a letter for Mr. Trevan. I'll come back for an answer directly."

John took the note; it was closely sealed. He tore it open, and as he read the first words he uttered an exclamation which he checked quickly, glancing at his wife.

"What is it?" she asked, anxiously noting her husband's agitation. "John, tell me;" and she would have taken the letter from him.

"No, no, Philippa," he said, "not yet. Can you bear it?"

"Bear what, John? Tell me."

"Willy's come home. He's the young man who lies ill at Tressider's."

Philippa could not bear the joyful news; she fainted away. The strain and weariness, the tears and long waiting, had lasted for years; and now the joy was so unlooked for. But consciousness soon returned.

"He's come at last," she murmured. "My God, I thank Thee for hearing a mother's prayers."

"Bear up bravely, wife; our son is not far off; he's only at Lamorna; we must go and fetch him home."

"Where is he?" she asked, as if she scarcely comprehended her husband's words.

"At Lamorna. Tressider found him lying on a rock, bruised and hurt, but living. He was the only one saved from the wreck."

Mr. and Mrs. Trevan made all haste to reach Lamorna Cove. There indeed were signs of storm, for scattered about far inland were quantities of seaweed and timbers which had been washed up by the great waves.

Tressider's cottage was planted half way up the ravine, so they were obliged to leave their hired cart at the little roadside inn, and walk to it. Philippa's knees trembled; she could scarcely command herself enough to go forward; and her teeth chattered with agitation. Mr. Trevan threw his strong arm round her and almost carried her at last.

"John, let me go to him alone," she said.

No one but God and the angels witnessed the meeting between the mother and her newly found son. When the husband entered the room ten minutes later, they were still locked in a close embrace; but they made room for him, and Willy was forgiven and welcomed home by his father.

More than a week elapsed before he could bear the journey to Newlyn. His mother remained with him, and little by little heard the sad history of his life. It was an old, old story that Willy told. The story of the prodigal wandering from his father, and choosing his own way; finding the world a hard taskmaster; going from one scene of wickedness to another; then being in want and resolving to go home. But in the meantime he had learned by stern discipline that he had wronged a Heavenly Father as well as an earthly parent; he remembered his mother's tears and prayers, and he arose and went to his God; made confession of his sins, and sued for pardon through Jesus Christ.

When the family was once more re-united in the old home, every heart was full to overflowing with gratitude to God. Willy was carried from the spring cart and laid on the sofa that had been brought in from the best parlour for him. It was an old-fashioned couch, which was deemed too good for ordinary occasions, but was not thought too good for sick Willy to rest upon.

The meeting between Captain Nance and his grandson was solemn and touching.

"'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word,'" said the old man, as he bent over him and kissed him. "Willy, I believed I should live to see you, and God has sent you home. Praise the Lord for all His mercies, and most of all for teaching you, even though suffering, that there's no safe anchorage anywhere out of Christ."

Dorothy and Judith were silent with pleasure; they looked lovingly and admiringly at their tall sun-burnt brother, who pressed the hands that fondled his. It was not a noisy family party that sat in that little parlour at Newlyn on the evening that Willy returned, but a very happy, quiet, earnest group; even his father remained at home to receive him.

Captain Nance, as usual, conducted prayer.

"Good-bye, my children and grandchildren," he said, ere he left the room. "My sailing orders will come soon now. My old weather-beaten bark will be safely landed on the eternal shore before long. The harbour-master will come alongside and release me from any further waiting. Bless and thank God for it. Kiss me, all of you."

They obeyed him, and then his daughter helped him to bed as usual. Afterwards she came to her Willy, and his room, which had so long been empty, was once more tenanted by its rightful occupant.

The next morning there was a sound of weeping in the fisherman's cottage, for they loved the brave old man so much. His sailing orders had been brought to him during the night, and his weather-beaten bark was safely landed where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.

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LONDON: R. K. BURT AND CO., PRINTERS.