CHAPTER XII.

AT SEA.

Before noon on the following day, the lighthouse at Dungeness was sighted, and the _Pandora_ parted company with her towboat. It was a joyous morning. A southerly wind blew its warm breath across the water, and filled the sails of the vessel. It was just the wind that suited her, for she could show off her powers far better on a bowline than when running, and she ploughed along with the freshening breeze at thirteen knots an hour. Her sharp stem cut through the swells, and made the seething foam rush angrily from her, leaving a long white streak of creamy froth in her wake. Little spits flew over the weather topgallantsail, as the boisterous waves dashed against her, and the sea gushed through the lee scupper-holes, oozed in at the ports, and ran in torrents aft with the backward roll. Her large, white canvas sails bulged out with the wind, and made her sheets crack again, as they hugged the belaying bits; and the leeches, stretched taut with the bowlines, trembled convulsively when she came up to windward.

The _Pandora_ was behaving beautifully, and her passengers--who had mostly pulled round after their severe shaking in the Downs--all thought the movement delightful. And the scene by which they were surrounded added to their pleasurable sensations. The gulls sailed in half-circles about the vessel’s wake, now and then uttering hoarse cries as they dived after and engaged in a battle-royal for some tempting morsel tossed overboard by the black cook. The porpoises skimmed the waves in frolicsome gambols--often leaping straight out of the water, and falling back upon their sides with a loud splash, scaring the smaller fry, that fled in all directions, as they chased each other over the crested swells. The numerous vessels that passed, too, showed themselves off to advantage under such an inviting gale. The heavily-rigged East Indiaman, with her Lascar crew, homeward bound, after a twelve months’ voyage, followed by two small tugs, in the hope that the breeze would drop, and she would be obliged to have recourse to their assistance; the neat little Madeira fruiter, with a cargo of oranges and bananas, making all haste to London to get rid of her perishable freight; the Newcastle steamer, that enveloped every craft that came near her in clouds of smoke, and poured gallons of water from her black sides; the huge ocean liner, that looked like an enormous floating hotel, and sent forth ominous blasts as she altered her course to keep clear of the sailing vessels; the West Indian barque, that was chartered to bring home rum and sugar; and the humble collier, with her dusty cargo and begrimed hull and sails; these, and many others, passed the _Pandora_ on her outward voyage, and kept her passengers interested and amused. Mr Vansittart, with a storm-cap strapped under his chin, and a pair of field-glasses slung in a case behind his back, was standing under the shelter of the wheel-house, talking to his daughter Grace, who looked rather paler than when she stepped aboard, but declared she felt quite well as long as she remained in the fresh air. Godfrey Harland was in close attendance on her, and she seemed pleased by his proximity. He had quite got over the ridiculous fit of self-reproach which had attacked him off Southend, and had nerved himself to go through everything that might lie before him--even to marriage with Grace Vansittart, if she and her parents consented to it. Mrs Leyton, too, was on deck for the first time, and sat on the skylight, enveloped in a warm shawl, whilst her little daughter Winifred (who was still known as ‘Baby’), a pretty child of about three years old, ran about the deck; and Alice carried on a laughing flirtation with Captain Lovell, which she refused to relinquish for all the warning looks she received from her mother. The fact is, Alice was piqued. Her lawful sweetheart, Jack Blythe, may have been too busy to stay by her side, and attend to her many little wants, and she was a sensible girl, and did not expect him to give up his duty for his pleasure; still, he might have spoken a word or two to her occasionally in passing, or thrown a look with a world of meaning in it. But though he had smiled kindly at her when they met in the morning, he had taken no notice of her since, and Alice could not help seeing that he was pre-occupied and serious. What could be the matter with him? Surely he was never going to be so stupid as to feel jealous of the little attentions Captain Lovell showed her, and which he himself had no time to pay! If _that_ was to be the order of march at this early stage of the proceedings, what would Jack do before the voyage was over. The very thought made Alice’s only half-subdued heart rebellious, and her smiles became sweeter, and her laughter more hilarious, than there was any need they should be.

And, meantime, jealousy of her and her doings was the very last thought of Vernon Blythe. His mind was entirely set upon Iris Harland, and he had to drive her image, and the wild conjectures which the sight of her had eliminated, by force away, in order to fit himself for his duty. Where was her husband? What was she doing on board the _Pandora_? Why had she embarked under a false name? And had she recognised him when he recognised her? All these questions kept rushing through his brain, and driving him half crazy because he could not solve them. He had tried to pump Dr Lennard, but had derived little satisfaction from the attempt. The doctor could not guess the reason for his anxiety, and would not have sympathised with it, probably, if he had. He set down the young man’s queries to curiosity, and answered them in a very common-place manner. Miss Douglas was better, and would be all right in a day or two. Did he not consider her an unusually pretty woman? Well, she had good features, certainly, but was too thin and pale for beauty, and she was very silent. The doctor didn’t know if she was stupid or sulky, but she did not appear very grateful for the attentions shown her; and the girl from the steerage who was nursing her, and seemed to be her friend, was twice as interesting a person, in his eyes.

And so Vernon Blythe turned away with the secret of his burning heart untold, and waited feverishly for the moment when he should see Iris again and speak to her, although he could scarcely trust himself to think of it. He had borne the sting of his disappointment for five long years, and he believed that he was cured. He had never expected to meet Iris Hetherley (the only name by which he had known her) again. He had thought he should, in due time, marry Alice Leyton, and banish the last memories of his first love for ever from his heart. Yet here she was, and the very knowledge that she _was_ here had the power to make the young sailor’s blood course like molten lava through his veins, and set his head spinning like a top. He knew that, in a few days at latest, he must see her again; but each hour seemed to mark a day as it dragged its weary length along.

Jack longed for a storm to arise,--for the vessel to be in danger,--for anything to occur that should take him out of himself, and make the time go faster. But the clerk of the weather would not listen to his prayer. The sky continued to be gloriously blue; the emerald waters sparkled in the radiance of the sun; the white cliffs of dear Albion, with the green fields beyond them, receded further and further away; the vessels of every nation, which the English Channel bears upon her bosom, became scattered and far between, and the _Pandora_ stood out to the open sea.

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