was still in the same attitude in which he had left her. But nothing would have been heard by Coral then, and there was not much chance of Nelly’s senseless gabble, which she had for years been accustomed to hear as indifferently as the cackling fowls, attracting her attention. Finding it impossible to make any impression on the still and silent girl, Nelly swallowed the anger she felt at her impassiveness with a power of self-command which might have afforded those philosophers who hold self-interest as the strongest principle of human nature a fresh nail with which to clench their doctrine, and carrying her rage to another part of the vessel, left the poor girl in quiet.
Meanwhile, the schooner receded rapidly from the shore, and Coral at last uncovered her face and looked about her. The village, the farmstead, the fields, and orchards of Long Arrow soon began to grow dim in the distance; she gazed till the last fair outline had vanished, and then she let the tears she had hitherto so resolutely repressed flow fast and unheeded.
“Now it is night,” she said, softly, “when will morning come?”
CHAPTER XI.
Later in the day the wind changed, and the Mary Brown, with Coral and the Bradys on board, as she beat heavily down the lake, was passed by a schooner sailing swiftly in the opposite direction. Vessels were by no means so common on the lakes then as now, and this one excited some curiosity on board the Mary Brown.
Much to their disappointment, she did not come within hail; but long after she had gone by, Debster Brown and his companions watched her course, and formed conjectures as to her crew, cargo, and destination. Coral, too, gazed longingly after the strange boat, as it sped on towards that western land where she had left love and happiness behind; and her heart yearned to follow in its flight and once again find rest beside Keefe. Yet no secret inspiration warned her that in that boat was one who was destined to exercise a powerful, though involuntary influence over her future fate. The schooner was soon out of sight, and as quickly forgotten by Coral.
Towards evening a fierce tempest of rain, lightning, and wind broke over the lake, and lasted the whole night, the wind increasing every hour in violence. Fortunately for the Mary Brown, she was near a safe harbour when the storm came on, and was soon in safety. But the schooner she had met that afternoon was not so lucky; no port was near when the storm broke over her, and she was obliged to face its fury. The night was black as pitch, except when lit up by the lightnings, the rain fell in torrents, the wind blew fiercely, and the schooner ran almost helpless before it. In the cabin were two passengers; one an elderly man, who had lately purchased a lot of wild land at Long Arrow, and had hired the schooner to take him there, with some furniture and agricultural implements; the other, his daughter, a girl about twenty.
A short time before, Mr. Lennox had been one of the richest merchants in Canada; but two or three great and unexpected losses succeeding each other rapidly, had reduced him to poverty, clouded his mind, and broken his health; and the fatigues and discomforts of his journey from Quebec had rendered him so ill, that from Toronto, where he had hired the schooner, he had been unable to leave his berth. The faint, dull light of the oil-lamp hanging in the cabin, made its rude and scanty accommodations look still more wretched and dreary, and gave a ghastly appearance to the thin and worn features of the ruined merchant; but it could not greatly mar the loveliness and grace of the young girl who sat beside him. The wild rush of the wind, the crash of the thunder, the fierce waves breaking against the vessel’s side, the shudder and groan with which the poor little schooner yielded to the shock for a moment, and then again struggled onwards through the foaming water which enveloped her, would have filled Ellen Lennox with terror, had she been alone; for she had never before been on the water, except when it was sleeping beneath a calm sky, or sparkling and dancing in a light summer breeze: but now she thought more of the uneasiness the rolling and pitching of the vessel, the noise of the storm, and the loud cries, and tramping of feet over head, would occasion her father,—all her thoughts and feelings were absorbed in anxiety for him; and the terrible dread that his illness might prove fatal, for want of proper care, left no room for another fear. He was the only relation, the only real friend she had ever known; and though her heart was a most warm and sensitive one, no other being had ever shared it with that beloved parent. Her sympathy with him in the grief and mortification his commercial failure had caused him, her efforts to conquer his despondency and inspire him with hope and courage, made him dearer to her than ever; and now he lay tossing in restless fever, with ruined fortunes and broken frame, her heart, as she leaned over him, swelled not only with love, but with soft pity, which, when women feels~it for a manly nature, whose superiority it has been her pride to acknowledge, all the tenderest and most generous impulses of her being are moved by its flow.
At daybreak the storm seemed to reach its height. The mate had just taken the helm, and the skipper stood beside him, anxiously striving to pierce with his glance the thick mass of clouds and waves which enveloped the vessel. Eagerly he watched for the first gleam of morning that he might get some notion of his situation, for he feared that, in spite of all their efforts, the storm had driven them dangerously near the land.
“There’s the day at last!” cried the mate; but the tone of exultation in which he spoke was instantly checked by an exclamation of horror from the skipper.
He had caught a glimpse of that reef of rocks which stretched out from the cliff, called Scalp Head, at Long Arrow, looming up within a few yards of the vessel’s head.
“’Bout ship!” he cried. And springing to the helm he took it from the hand of the steersman. “Be alive, my hearts, or we’re all lost!”
The sailors flew to bring the boat round with that energy which the fear of death gives, and a