CHAPTER XI.

A CHANGE.

During that night a gentle breeze rippled the bosom of the ocean, and the unhealthy mist, like a death-shroud hung over the face of the living, was slowly lifted, and passed away. By morning, when long white shafts of light were appearing in the eastward, there was a clear horizon, and, better still, a fair wind. Then the clouds assumed fantastic shapes, and drifted towards the west, and a rosy hue tinted the white sky, which turned to a deep scarlet, and finally resolved itself to a rich orange, until a majestic ball of fire shot up into the heavens, and lit the day with golden beams.

The _Pandora_ was making her eight knots an hour with flowing sheets. All her sails were spread to the wind, and the sun soon dried and warmed her decks. Several other vessels were in sight--small coasters--that were making northerly courses, and occasionally a black pillar of smoke from the funnel of a steamer could be distinguished right ahead. The passengers, recovered from their despondency, had assembled with smiling faces on the poop deck.

Mr and Mrs Vansittart were present, delighted at the idea of so soon reaching _terra firma_, and resuming their life in the bush, and not less so at the prospect of getting rid of their troublesome companion. For Mr Vansittart fully coincided now with his wife’s opinion concerning Godfrey Harland, and had quite made up his mind to dismiss him as soon as ever they reached New Zealand. He would not be ungenerous, or unkind. That was not in his nature. He would recoup him liberally for his trouble and loss of time, but he would not take him up to Tabbakooloo. His behaviour with Grace, and her evident infatuation for him, would have been sufficient reason to prevent it, without the very serious suspicions that had lately attached themselves to his name. So that matter was settled, eminently to the satisfaction of Mrs Vansittart, although her husband was not equally delighted at the prospect of the task that lay before him.

Mrs Leyton, keeping one eye upon her baby and the other upon Alice and Captain Lovell, was smiling serenely at the prospect of meeting her husband, and having some one to look after her again, and Miss Vere was in the same state of joyful anticipation.

The actress had made good use of her time.

The long monotonous voyage had afforded her ample leisure for studying her new _rôles_, and she was looking forward with the keenest pleasure to making her _débût_ and her name in a new country, and with a new people.

Her parts suited her to perfection, her wardrobe was safe in the hold, her husband was waiting to receive her with open arms in Canterbury. What on earth could any woman want more. She looked radiant with health and happiness, as she sat in her deck chair, talking with Harold Greenwood, who generally played shadow to her substance. This young gentleman had not been so stricken by his disappointment as some people might imagine, neither had the unexpected revelation that his divinity was married had any effect in making him alter his pre-conceived determination to follow her through the New World. She could still be worshipped, even if she _were_ Mrs Perkins! In fact, Mr Greenwood had not quite made up his mind whether he might not yet cut Mr Perkins out. And Miss Vere’s manner to him may have favoured the idea. She delighted in her little ‘masher,’ and never lost an opportunity of letting him make a fool of himself. He was her fetcher and carrier, and general ‘walking-stick,’ and she so often avowed that she did not know what she should have done on the voyage without him, that he quite believed himself to be indispensable to her comfort.

‘Oh, _I_ travel with “the company,”’ he would reply to any one who asked him what were his plans on reaching New Zealand. ‘You see Miss Vere couldn’t very well do without me. I’m her “factotum,” as she is pleased to call it. In fact,’ he would continue, lowering his voice, ‘I ran a very good chance once of becoming a near connection of Mr Perkins’. No, that’s not it exactly,’ he would say, correcting himself, with a puzzled look upon his flabby face; ‘but I _ought_ to have been Mr Perkins, or I _should_ have been, if there had been no Mr Perkins at all. You understand, I’m sure. It’s the way of the world, but it’s the sort of thing one can’t talk about.’

So half the passengers thought Mr Greenwood was a very wicked and immoral young man, and the other half thought--well, they thought, and justly, that he was an ass, with something spelt with a big _D_ before it. But he was none the less amusing on that account to Miss Vere, who declared that he was the sole thing that had kept her in health during the voyage.

Alice Leyton, leaning on the arm of Captain Lovell, whose engagement to her was known to the whole ship’s company, walked blithely up and down the deck, bandying jests with her old lover whenever she came across him; and Mr Fowler strutted in company with Dr Lennard. Their colloquy, indeed, appeared to be of more importance than that of the others, which was the reason, perhaps, that they conversed with lowered voices, and stopped every now and then and leaned over the side of the vessel, whilst they peered with solemn looks into each other’s faces.

Godfrey Harland, who was seated upon the skylight benches, apparently shunned by everybody, did not seem to like the way in which Mr Fowler and the doctor were talking to each other, for he watched their movements and grimaces attentively, though he was very careful not be caught doing so.

Captain Robarts, who was also on deck, seemed to have shaken off ‘the black dog’ that had clung to him so much of late, and actually greeted the ladies with the nearest approach he could manufacture to a smile. The wind and the weather had had a marvellous effect upon him. Three or four times during the morning he had rushed into the pilot-house and examined his precious sextant, and brightened up its silver arc with his silk bandana. He was in exuberant spirits _for him_,--thankful beyond measure that the voyage had terminated with so few mishaps, and that his barque was within a day’s sail of the land. He forgot his petty annoyances, and chatted to his first officer in quite a lively manner. He regarded his vessel with a complacent, self-satisfied air, as if she owed everything she was, or had done, to him alone. He sometimes indulged in a low chuckle to himself; and had he not considered that he might have fallen thereby in the estimation of his passengers and crew, he might even have committed the impropriety of bursting out into song. But from this indiscretion his utter want of voice or musical ability mercifully preserved him.

But the crowning bliss was yet to come. Mr Coffin, obeying the instructions of his superior officer, officially proclaimed to the ladies and gentlemen on deck, that the following day would bring them to the end of their voyage, and in two days’ time (providing there was no quarantine) they would all be on shore.

This news was received with the greatest excitement and applause. Miss Vere set the example of clapping her hands, which was taken up by all present, and the second-class passengers, who had been listening to the first officer’s harangue from the quarter-deck, burst forth, on its conclusion, into a loud cheer.

Godfrey Harland joined in it. The intelligence was, perhaps, more welcome to him than to any one there. In a day more he would be free--free from these long faces and suspicious looks--free also, he hoped, from his wife, and the scrutiny of Farrell. As he thought of Iris, he glanced down at the quarter-deck, and saw her standing there by the side of Perry, with her serious eyes strained in the direction in which they had told her the land lay. The idea flashed across Harland’s mind that it would be as well, perhaps, to speak to her as soon as he could do so without attracting notice. He had had no communication with her since _that night_. Would she not think it strange if he did not ask the reason of her not complying with his request? He waited until most of the saloon passengers had disappeared, joyfully bent on packing their boxes, and writing letters with the news of their arrival, to be despatched to the old country which they had left thousands of miles astern, as soon as they touched land. And then, with a quick look around, to see if he was observed, Godfrey Harland descended the companion, and made his way to the side of his wife. Will Farrell was below at the time, and Perry had walked away before Harland appeared. There was no one near enough to overhear their conversation.

‘Iris,’ he commenced (but do what he would, he could not help his voice shaking), ‘did you receive my letter the other night?’

‘I did,’ she answered, without looking at him.

‘Why did you not meet me then, as I asked you to do, in the spare galley?’

‘You know the reason well. Poor Maggie came to meet you, instead of me.’

‘_Maggie!_’ exclaimed Godfrey, with a well-feigned start of surprise, ‘_Maggie!_ Was it in coming after _me_ that the poor girl met her death? This is terrible news! It was a great shock to me when I heard _who_ was missing. Why did you not tell me she was on board?’

‘I did not see the necessity.’

‘Of course I could have no idea she would cross the sea with you: it was so unlikely. What could have been her motive in doing so?’

‘I do not suppose it is any concern of yours.’

‘You are very cold and hard to me. One would think I had been doing something wrong. What is the matter? I came down with the kindliest feelings, to make some arrangement with you about landing to-morrow. We cannot go together, but I must not lose sight of you. I cannot quite decide what is best to be done.’

‘Spare yourself the trouble, Godfrey; I do not intend to go with you.’

‘Who do you go with, then?’

‘That is _my_ business. But I will never live with _you_ again, rest assured of that.’

This determination, so different from what Iris had expressed before, when she had threatened to compel him to acknowledge and support her, filled Harland with terror. There was evidently some deep feeling at work, to have made her alter her mind so soon, and speak so boldly to him. Was it possible she _knew_ how Maggie Greet had come by her death, and was resolved to expose him? What else could imbue her with this sudden independence and hardihood? As he thought of it, his knees knocked together with fright. But he tried to brave it out.

‘I can’t understand your tactics, Iris. Last time we met, you told me that if I would give you my written word to live soberly for the future, everything should be right between us. Well, I am ready to give you my promise to that effect. I wrote you that letter with the idea of making up our quarrel, and I have hardly spoken to Miss Vansittart since. Indeed she is quite angry with me for my want of courtesy. And now you appear to have changed your mind. What is the reason?’

‘I don’t see that there is any need to give it you, and I am quite sure you would not like to hear it if I did. But I am quite resolved not to owe anything to you for the future. I will neither live with you, nor take any maintenance from you. I would rather starve, a great deal. And now you know my determination, please not to speak to me again, or you may drive me to do something for which we may both be sorry.’

Godfrey Harland understood her now. He saw plainly that she _suspected_, though it was impossible that she should _know_. Still--if he aggravated her into giving vent to her suspicions--it might be very awkward for him. Conciliation all round was the only card left for him to play.

‘You have got some fancied grudge against me, Iris, I suppose, though I can’t for the life of me imagine _what_.’

‘If _I_ imagine it, it is sufficient for my purpose.’

‘True. But I am sorry. I had dreamt we might turn over a new leaf in the new country, and become a model married couple.’

‘No. That will never be--_now_,’ she said significantly.

‘You understand plainly that my little flirtation with Miss Vansittart is completely over, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And that my income is to commence at six hundred a year.’

‘Yes.’

‘And I am willing to remit you half of it, until I can disclose our marriage to Mr Vansittart?’

‘Yes.’

‘And yet you refuse to live with me,--you give me up altogether, at the very moment when I have the opportunity to keep you in a comfortable home.’

‘I do. I refuse to have anything whatever to do with you, from this hour to the last day of my life.’

‘Have you confided your intention to any one else?’

‘To no one.’

He drew closer to her, and whispered nervously,--

‘Iris--if--if--you have taken any absurd notions into your head, which have not the slightest foundation--you--you won’t ruin me, will you? You won’t go and make them public property, so as to cast an unmerited stigma upon me, and spoil all my future prospects?’

Then she turned her pale face towards him, and he read the truth in her eyes.

‘You have no cause to fear me,’ she answered contemptuously. ‘You will never be betrayed by _me_. But--it must depend on the condition that you never claim me as your wife, nor try to marry another woman. If you attempt to interfere with me, or to force me to live with you again, I shall adopt what means I can to prevent you. Understand me plainly, Godfrey Harland. You and I are parted _for ever_. I would not even stoop to take your hand, that is stained with--’

‘Hush, hush! for God’s sake!’ he entreated; ‘it is a mistake; it is not true. I had nothing whatever to do with it.’

‘Say no more,’ she interposed, with a quick look of horror. ‘Every word you utter is a fresh condemnation. If you want me to be silent--if you want me to keep my promise and my senses, you will leave me to myself, and never attempt to see me again.’

She turned from him, and by the convulsive twitching of her face he saw how difficult she found it to control herself. He made one more effort to speak, but Iris waved him from her, and feeling very uncomfortable, conscience-stricken, and alarmed, Godfrey Harland retreated to his own cabin, to consider what steps it would be wisest to take in the matter.

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