CHAPTER IX.

MR GREENWOOD.

He was one of those wonderful anomalies in coat and trousers, at which we gaze curiously, as we speculate to which sex they belong. He had light flaxen hair, perceptibly crimped with hot irons, pale blue eyes, and small, dolly features. The suspicion of a whitey-brown moustache on his upper lip was like the down on an apple-tart. His hands were fat, and short, and white--almost dimpled--and laden with women’s rings. He was dressed in a tight check suit, a brown felt hat, gaiters, and patent-leather shoes. In his hand he carried a small Malacca cane, which he usually swung backwards and forwards, while he stood with his legs well apart; an eyeglass was stuck with so painful an effort into his eye that it distorted his features; and he wore his hat a little to one side, which was intended to give him a rakish appearance. A gold chain of great length and thickness was stretched across his waistcoat. At one end of it dangled his keys, at the other a button-hook. From his breast-pocket peeped out a pink silk handkerchief, placed there for ornament rather than use, and encircling his throat was a white collar, so high and so well starched that he was frequently obliged to place his fingers between the linen and the skin to prevent his throttling.

Vernon Blythe looked down at this mannikin with supreme contempt, not unmixed with amusement.

‘I suppose you are an officer of the ship--eh?’ rejoined Mr Greenwood.

‘I suppose I am,’ said Jack coolly.

‘Well, when shall we sail--eh? Can you tell me that?’

‘By the first tide to-morrow morning.’

‘But when will the first tide be? I’m a passenger, you see, so I’ve a right to know. Haven’t I--eh? My name is Greenwood--Harold Greenwood. I have one of the deck cabins.’

‘Why don’t you go down to your dinner?’ asked Jack, ignoring his queries.

‘Oh, because I dined before I came on board. Didn’t know what I might get here, don’t you know? Had dinner with a friend, and a game at billiards. Oh, by the way, have you a billiard-table on board? Awfully jolly game billiards, don’t you know?’ and placing his hand upon the pipe rail, whilst he used his cane for a cue, Mr Greenwood commenced pushing away at an imaginary ball.

To this absurd question Jack Blythe again vouchsafed no answer.

‘I say, do you like waltzing?--awfully nice waltzing,’ resumed the youth, commencing to whistle, and dance round in a circle with his cane for a partner. ‘I suppose we shall have a dance every evening? I hear there are some devilish pretty girls on board, and it will be our duty to pay them some attention. We shall miss the rides in the Row, and the shooting awfully, don’t you know?’ he went on, pretending his cane was a gun, and levelling it at the main-topsail block; ‘but we must make the best of it, and a bit of flirtation ain’t such bad fun on a long voyage, don’t you know? It passes the time, and it pleases the girls, and so it does good all round, eh?’

‘I should think _you_ would be sure to do them a lot of good. There’s no doubt at all about that,’ replied Jack Blythe gruffly, as he turned on his heel.

There could not have been a greater contrast than between these two men. To see them side by side was to doubt the possibility of their belonging to the same order of creation. Jack Blythe, strong, healthy, and muscular, with arms and hands that had been developed by manual labour, and a fresh skin, which had been bronzed by a tropical sun, and washed and beaten by the salt sprays of the Atlantic--with manly and practical ideas, and a wholesome horror of effeminacy and all that pertains to a fop; and Harold Greenwood, with a milk-and-water complexion and flabby muscles,--soft limbs, that stood on a par with those of a woman, and a head crammed with superficial ideas, that showed the narrowness of his nature and the absence of even an ordinary amount of brain.

‘Awfully jolly weather this, isn’t it?’ continued Harold Greenwood, who was too dense to take a rebuff unless it was administered in the shape of a kick. ‘I say, what time do they call a fella here in the morning? I should like to be up to see the ship start. Do you think the steward will remember to wake me?’

‘I don’t know,’ returned Vernon brusquely. ‘You had better ask him yourself. And I wish the d----l you wouldn’t whisk your stick about in that absurd manner. You will put out my eye in another minute.’

This last request, which was delivered in a very angry tone of voice, startled ‘Miss Nancy’ altogether, and with a muttered apology, and a half-frightened look at the second officer, Mr Greenwood hurried down the accommodation ladder, thinking what very rude men sailors seemed to be, whilst Jack continued to keep his watch, and to smile to himself whenever the sound of Alice’s ringing laughter was wafted upwards through the open skylights of the saloon.

Meanwhile, in the second cabin some of the passengers had sat down to tea, and were discussing in lubber-like terms the qualities and accommodation of the vessel, whilst others were amusing themselves by unpacking their chests and ranging the necessary articles for the voyage in the places assigned to them. They were a large party, and there was much fun and confusion amongst them, the dearth of space in their sleeping cabins, and the difficulty of finding room for their various belongings, seeming to provoke more laughter than vexation. Will Farrell especially appeared to be enjoying himself. He was excited at the idea of leaving England and commencing a new life in the bush, and having the opportunity to shake off the suspicion which had been wrongfully attached to him. He had already made fast friends with a man called Bob Perry, and was sitting at the tea-table with him discussing subjects of interest connected with New Zealand, with which Perry had been for some years familiar. It was at this juncture that the second officer, from his watch on the poop, saw a sailor run to the side to help two more passengers over the gangway. They were both women. The first one stumbled, and came head foremost upon deck, striking the gallant seaman who waited to receive her a violent blow in the chest, which he took with a roar of laughter, in which several of his messmates joined. The mirth and confusion seemed to make the second passenger timid, for as she stepped over the gangway she glanced in a nervous manner from one end of the vessel to the other, and whispered to her companion, who in her turn communicated her wishes in a very low voice to the sailor.

‘Second cabin, miss,’ he replied aloud; ‘why, certainly. I’ll show you the way. Round this here corner, that’s it, and down them stairs. Take care. Turn round, miss, and go down back’ards, or you’ll come a cropper. Now you’re safe, and the cabin’s just afore you. No thanks, miss--no thanks,’ and the sailor went upon his own business.

Vernon, watching this little episode from the elevation of the poop, could not help wondering for a moment who this second-class passenger could be, who seemed so timid and shrinking, and unlike the company in which she would find herself. She appeared to be a lady travelling with her maid, but what gentlewoman who could afford to keep a servant would go second class? The mystery, slight as it was, was sufficient to puzzle him, and keep him thinking of the last arrivals until he was relieved of his watch. Meanwhile Iris Harland and Maggie had found their way into the second cabin, where all eyes greeted them with a prolonged stare. Iris was terribly nervous--fearful in each face to recognise that of her husband; and her companion was not much better. However, there was no need for alarm, and after a minute or two, when they saw they were in the midst of strangers, they recovered their confidence. Maggie was the first to speak.

‘Can any of you gentlemen show us the way to cabin number twelve?’ she asked, as, laden with parcels and band-boxes, she pushed her way to the front.

Maggie was looking fresh and comely that evening. She wore her best clothes, and she had ‘cleaned herself’ for the occasion. Her dark hair and eyes formed a vivid contrast to her rosy cheeks; and her wide mouth, with its strong white teeth, looked sweet and wholesome. Will Farrell was the first man to answer her challenge.

‘_I_ will!’ he exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. ‘I sleep in number eleven. Here it is, you see--next to mine.’

‘Thank you kindly. ’Tisn’t for me; it’s for this lady here. And now, how are we to get our boxes down?’

‘Where are they?’ demanded Farrell.

‘On deck. There’s two of ’em. A black box, and a little blue one that’s mine.’

‘If they’re not very large, I’ll bring them down for you.’

‘Oh! _you’d_ make nothing of them. I’d carry them myself, except for those plaguey stairs.’

‘Maggie,’ remonstrated Iris, in a low voice, ‘we cannot trouble this gentleman. Remember he is a stranger.’

‘Oh, no! he ain’t. Are you, sir? No one is strangers once they’re on board ship together.’

‘Of course not,’ rejoined Farrell heartily, ‘and if it is the case, the sooner we’re friends the better. But won’t you have a cup of tea first? Shall I tell the steward to fetch you some? Your friend looks tired.’

‘She _is_ tired, poor dear!’ replied Maggie, who had been warned to treat Iris as her equal during the voyage.

‘I’ll fetch it whilst you are taking off your things,’ replied Farrell, hastening away.

‘Now, mistress, take off your hat and veil,’ whispered Maggie to Iris, as he disappeared, ‘this place is stifling hot.’

‘Oh, Maggie! I feel as I should never dare to show my face in public.’

‘Oh, but that’s nonsense! Besides, there’s no fear. _He’ll_ be a deal too grand to put his foot in the second cabin: you may take your oath of that. And here comes back this good fellow with the tea.’

‘Really, sir, you’re very kind to us,’ said Maggie, as Farrell set two cups of steaming tea before them, ‘but _I_ mustn’t drink any, you know. _I_ ain’t a second classer. I’m only steerage, and I shouldn’t have intruded myself here at all, except to see this lady safe to her cabin, because she ain’t used to roughing it, as I am.’

‘There’s no harm in saying _that_,’ she continued, as a slight pinch from Iris warned her not to go too far.

‘You are travelling in the steerage!’ exclaimed Will Farrell; ‘I _am_ sorry.’

‘Why so, sir? It’s good enough for me. I’m not a duchess.’

‘No! and I’m not a duke, and so I think we should have been good company for each other on the voyage, Miss Maggie.’

‘Miss Greet, if you please, sir. I don’t hold to being called out of my name.’

‘Miss Greet, then. However, the steerage is not far off, and so I shall still hope we may see a good deal of each other.’

‘I don’t know about that, but if you’ll turn your attention to my lady--I mean to my friend here--and help her instead of me, I should be ever so much more obliged to you. I daresay I shall find plenty of young men in the steerage--they ain’t a scarce commodity--but Mrs--I mean Miss Douglas, don’t know a soul here, and you can be all the use in the world to her.’

‘Hush! hush! Maggie,’ pleaded Iris.

‘You just keep quiet, my dear, and let me say what I choose.’

‘I shall be delighted to be of use to both of you,’ replied Farrell, who had not failed to observe that Iris was a very pretty woman; ‘and as an earnest of my goodwill, I will go and bring down these boxes at once.’ And off he ran.

‘Now, ain’t that a good sort?’ cried Maggie admiringly.

‘He seems so,’ replied Iris. ‘But, Maggie, I think I shall go to my berth at once. I shall never feel safe until we are well out to sea.’

‘All right, my dear. But here comes that chap with the boxes. Let me just go and see where he puts mine first, and then I’ll come back, if they’ll let me, and help you get to bed. Will you promise me to sit here quiet till I come?’

‘Yes,’ said Iris mechanically, as she took up a newspaper, and commenced to read.

Many eyes were turned towards her as she sat there, with her pale, beautiful face half-shaded by the brim of her hat and the thick veil, which was only partially withdrawn; and many conjectures were raised as to why so young a creature was going out to the new country alone.

Perhaps it was the little drama he had seen enacted on her arrival which induced Vernon Blythe to pay a visit to the second cabin that evening. Perhaps it was the fate which stalks us all, and pulls the strings of our lives as if we were so many puppets, bound to caper at its will. Any way, when his watch was relieved, he bent his steps there, instead of going down to the saloon. As he entered, Iris Harland was sitting where Maggie had left her, at the end of the long table furthest removed from the door; and Vernon Blythe stood on the threshold, and regarded her for some minutes before she was even aware of his presence. He had not caught a single glimpse of the face of the lady who had arrived so late, he had scarcely seen the outlines of her figure, and yet he felt sure that _that_ was she sitting under the swinging lamp, with her graceful form bent forward, her eyes cast down upon the paper, and one slim white hand resting on the table. How strangely her appearance startled and affected him. He had never, to his knowledge, seen her before, and yet his heart almost stood still to look at her. Who was she? Where were her friends? What was she doing here alone, in an atmosphere so evidently uncongenial to her? Jack Blythe had not been so many years at sea without gaining a thorough knowledge of the different classes of passengers a vessel is accustomed to carry. And _this_ passenger, he could tell from merely looking at her, was out of her class and her own sphere altogether. Could there be any error in the matter? She seemed very shy, and inexperienced. Was it possible she had got into the wrong cabin by mistake? Jack determined to find out, and with that view walked up to the further end of the table. As Iris perceived that some one was approaching her, she drew the thick veil she wore right over her features, and pretended still to be reading through it, although it was impossible she could decipher a word. Jack threw himself into a seat near her, and whistled a few bars of music carelessly, just to show that he was completely at his ease. Then after the pause of a minute, he addressed her:--

‘I beg your pardon! I hope that you are comfortable, and have everything you require. Things are apt to be a little confused on starting, but I am one of the officers of the ship, and if there is anything I can do for you, you have but to ask me.’

He paused for a reply, but it was long in coming. Iris’s thick veil did not prevent her hearing, and the sound of his young manly voice had struck on her heart like a knell. She recognised it at once, and even through her veil she recognised him. She remembered distinctly when she had heard that voice last,--its earnest, passionate tones,--the strangled agony in it on her refusal to listen,--the sob with which he had turned to leave her for ever! She had often thought of that scene, and of her boyish lover since then,--had often asked herself whether she had not been a blind fool to turn from his suit to listen to that of Godfrey Harland,--had even wondered if she should ever meet Vernon Blythe again, and tell him she regretted the pain which she had given him. And here he was--in the very same ship with herself, and speaking to her in that unforgotten voice. At the first blush, it seemed to Iris Harland as if everything were lost. Her own voice shook so in answering him that it would have been hard for any one to recognise it.

‘Thank you,’ she said, in the lowest possible tone, ‘but there is nothing.’

‘Introductions are not supposed to be necessary aboard ship,’ continued Jack, ‘so I hope you will not think me forward in asking your name.’

‘Miss Douglas.’

‘And mine is Vernon Blythe, at your service,’ he said, lifting his cap and putting it on his head again. ‘Are you going out to Lyttleton?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have friends there, perhaps?’

‘No.’

This answer puzzled him. What on earth could so young a lady intend to do in a strange country without friends? He hazarded another conjecture.

‘You know the country then?--you have been there before?’

‘No, never!’ replied Miss Douglas, in the same agitated tones.

After this, Jack felt that he must ask no more. She evidently did not wish to be communicative, and further questioning would devolve into impertinence. He was wondering if he dared speak to her again, when Maggie Greet rushed back into the cabin, and up to her mistress’s side.

‘Now, my dear,’ she cried, ‘I’m going to put you to bed.’

‘Yes, yes!’ whispered Iris convulsively, clinging to her, ‘take me away at once--take me to bed.’

Maggie saw she was on the point of breaking down, and looked round for the cause. Her eyes fell on Vernon Blythe, sheepishly watching them both.

‘What have _you_ been a-saying to her?’ she demanded curtly.

‘Nothing--nothing, Maggie!’ sobbed Iris.

‘I hope, indeed,’ said Vernon, ‘that I have not offended Miss Douglas by my offers of assistance. They were made with the best intentions, I can assure you.’

‘Yes, yes! I know--’ gasped Iris; ‘but I’m tired--and--and a little faint, and I’d rather go to bed.’

‘She’s overdone--that’s where it is, sir,’ explained Maggie, as she cuddled Iris’s head to her bosom, ‘and the sooner she’s asleep the better. Come along, my pretty!’ and she half led, half dragged Iris into No. 12.

She went without even bidding Jack a formal good-night. He felt a little mortified when he thought of it, but, after all, what was Miss Douglas to him? He rose up, and went whistling out of the cabin as she disappeared; but he thought more than once of the mysterious second-class passenger before they met again.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]