respectable. At the time of this narrative, Mr. Gale must be supposed to have prospered in this life for some forty years, and to have been married somewhere about half that time. Such an hypothesis is necessary in order that there may be no difficulties in the way of introducing Miss Patience Gale, Jonathan’s daughter, as a bright, loveable, English girl of seventeen.
Of the many ships “of Filby,” one good brig was the property of Master Henry Harborough, a kindly and prudent seaman. The skipper of the “Camilla” brig could not have been more than ten years younger than Mr. Jonathan Gale; but for all that he had won the heart, and a promise of the hand, of Patience. Patience was one of those natures who love to cling to something stoutly set. The quiet earnestness and unobtrusive self-reliance of her friend outweighed the more boisterous attractions of a score of younger wooers. Besides, certain whaling adventures in the South Seas had made Harborough somewhat of a hero. A hero with a frank fearless face, strong and tender, and withal steady and sober, is no bad match for any girl, though he be forty instead of thirty. We have high authority for believing that in the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. It cannot be unreasonable to hold that the same phenomenon may be observed in a young woman.
Let none, therefore, deem it an exaggerated impossibility that the afore-mentioned Henry and Patience should be described as meeting in the ruins of the old abbey of Filby, on an evening in the May of 18—, to discuss their matrimonial prospects. Let none, however, imagine, from the mention of a meeting in a ruin, that the alliance under consideration was in the least degree clandestine. Henry and Patience had walked boldly forth from the parlour of Mr. and Mrs. Gale, with the full consent and approbation of that worthy couple. So far from Jonathan’s being a too stern parent he was possibly too lax. Nevertheless in one matter he was stern, or firm, or obstinate. Patience Gale should never be Patience Harborough, with his willing blessing, until Henry, the bridegroom, should be able to show fifteen hundred guineas side by side with the dowry he intended for his daughter.
These fifteen hundred guineas formed one subject of the lovers’ talk in the ruined abbey. As yet, their existence was only a possibility. Henry did not despair of acquiring them; but he was of opinion that their acquisition would be easier if he were cheered in his work by the smiles of a wife. Patience by no means disagreed with him. But her father was immovable. Harborough must make more than one other voyage en garçon; and this was the eve of his departure. The moon and the ruin and the far sea make up a fine set scene for a parting lovers’ dialogue. The reader may fill it up at his or her pleasure, only remembering that Henry and Patience really and honestly cared a great deal for one another.
“Patience,” said her lover, pointing over the rippling sea, marked with a long tapering stripe of moonshine, “it looks very bright and kind. It will bring me back to you.”
At last it was time to part. The suitor led the lady to her father’s door.
“Good-bye, Henry.”
“God bless you, my girl.”
A close quick embrace, and a smothered sob, and Captain Harborough was off to his boat. The Camilla was bound for the South Seas again. With Patience at home the days and the nights went slowly by. Her thoughts were in the Pacific. When the wind howled over Filby, she trembled for the Camilla. When the sun shone down on a calm sea, she remembered that there were storms elsewhere. Still she did her duties without complaint. And she was not without consolation. Her father fell ill, and grew peevish and fretful. But an old uncle of Harborough’s died, and left the captain two thousand pounds. At first old Gale declared that this should make no difference in the sum to be earned; but he was induced at last to say that, as far as he was concerned, the wedding might take place on the day after Harborough’s return.
So Patience worked and waited. She was gentle to her cross-grained father. She was the kindly friend of scores of the poor. She prayed at church. And she sat a great many more hours than was necessary with a black profile portrait of her absent friend, which hardly did him justice. Icebergs, French cruisers, whales, South-sea islanders, filled her heart with a thousand terrors. So nine months went by. Then came a letter. Harborough had prospered, and was unscathed. So far from the French having been a cause of loss to him, they had been a gain. He had encountered a privateer, and encountered her successfully. He should sail homewards within three months of the date of his letter. “And being sure of your true love, I hope and pray you will be safe when I come to you. The very day after we are home again, Patience, I shall claim you as my wife. Good-bye, dearest. Mark Elling, of the City of York, carries this for me. So no more from yours till death. H. Harborough.” These precious lines of great round-hand writing shared the attentions of Miss Gale with the black profile and several other letters from the same writer.
The paper grew worn with perpetual fingering. But Patience had now an occupation immediately connected with her hero. If she was going to be married to him in three months she must be properly supplied with raiment and household linen. So mother and daughter toiled diligently at the fashioning of garments which, were they worn now-a-days, would at once mark the owners as candidates for Colney Hatch. And when Patience was busy neither with her outfit nor with her poor pensioners, she would wander forth with the escort of her diminutive maid, and indulge in fond retrospect and anticipation under the suggestive shadow of the abbey ruin. The light that streamed through the narrow openings of the long lancet windows seemed to figure to her the hope that lit her own dull life. And as she gazed over the far sea, she thought again and again of her lover’s words uttered on that very spot: “It will bring me back to you.”
She had perfect faith that these words would be fulfilled.
At last the time arrived when the Camilla might be daily expected home. Everything was ready