"Well, yes," meditated Mr Campbell, "I suppose you must."

And the parting on both sides convinced him how truly kind the good woman had been to his boy, and how she had completely won his heart.

"Don't be offended, Mrs Blewcome," he added; "but here's a trifle for you, it'll help you to paint up your caravans. I dare say they'll be none the worse for a fresh bit of colour."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," said Mrs Blewcome, with open eyes and hands. "I'm not a-going to be proud;" and she didn't look as if she were, as she slipped Alan's ill-spared ten-pound note into her pocket.

"Good-bye, sir. Good-bye, my dear boy! Here's a ticket for the show, sir, if I may make so bold; we've got some werry fine beastesses, sir.

Good-bye, dear!" And Mrs Blewcome curtsied herself from the room, with moist eyes and a heart genuinely saddened, for Harry had grown very dear to her during their two years' strange acquaintance.

CHAPTER XIX.

AT WILTON ONCE MORE.

"Vengeance" still--Driving to Wilton--At the farm--In the churchyard--The grammar-school--Wilton left again--Life's business.

Shortly after the departure of Mrs Blewcome, a large parcel was brought into the room, containing clothes for Harry; and how glad he was when, in the course of about half-an-hour, he stood fully arrayed before the looking-gla.s.s in his father's bedroom at the hotel. Once more he was in his rightful position; he was with his father, an outcast no more; no longer dependent on the doubtful fortunes of two show-people. But the revengeful feeling had not been stricken down within him. On the contrary, he only thought to himself, that now more possible than ever was revenge; now more than ever would there be a chance of his meeting with Egerton. You see, he was such a mere child still, and knew so little of the world, that he thought everything was easy.

His father soon noticed the change in his tone whenever Egerton's name was mentioned--the flushing cheeks, the eyes that lit up with anger; and though he himself was far, very far, from palliating Egerton's conduct, yet he felt obliged to speak seriously to his boy. But though Harry listened, and promised to try and crush out his pa.s.sion, he could not rid himself of it; it still clung to him; and when once the chiding words of his father ceased, he again brooded over his purpose of revenge.

The following morning they left the hotel. The waiters were now abjectly admiring, and in the most mellifluous tones that signified their "great expectations," expressed to the heedless Mr Campbell their congratulations on the discovery of his son. They could scarcely believe their eyes at the sight of Harry, the fine handsome boy, with curling sunny hair and gentlemanly bearing, when they thought of the untidy, raggedly-clad lad, upon whom they had been obliged to wait, the previous night.

But then, these sort of people only estimate a gentleman by the grandeur of his dress, and in the present day it is reasonably to be expected they make many and serious mistakes.

It was not long before Harry and his father were both seated in the train that was to carry them to Wilton. A wearisome journey it was, that hot dusty day, and Harry was very tired, when, about half-past seven, they reached the nearest station to Wilton, a small town called Oldwell.

From this place they took a cab and drove to Wilton; and how familiar it was to them both as they bowled along the leafy summer lanes in the June twilight, and into the well-remembered village!

By Alan's direction, the cabman drove them to the farm; and there, having deposited them and their luggage, turned his horse's head, and departed.

The meeting may easily be imagined. Two years had not made much difference in the good Mrs Valentine, though that time had done so much for Harry. And the two years of doubt and anxiety for "her boy," as she called him, had only increased her affection. But it was a sad, sad pleasure, this meeting; a sad pleasure this, their return to the little farm where there had been so much of gladness and so much of sorrow for them all. And lips quivered, and eyes were red with starting tears, and scarcely a word was uttered.

While his father wandered from room to room, lingering over each spot that he a.s.sociated with her, his dead, loved wife, Harry sat in the window-seat of the oak-panelled parlour, and, pressing his face against the gla.s.s, looked out across the churchyard, and remembered how he sat thus on that far-off evening when his father said good-bye for ever to her who slept yonder near the ivied church-porch.

Presently Alan entered the room, and taking Harry's hand, walked with him to the churchyard. And there, over the grave carefully, lovingly tended by Mrs Valentine, they stood, father and son, and not a word was said. Was not their sorrow too great for words? And, as of old, the twilight breezes crept in and out among the leaves of the lime-trees, and round the grey church tower.

The next morning was one of excitement to Harry. There was first a visit to Mr and Mrs Bromley, who were as delighted as they were surprised to see the two. And then came the visit to the school.

Never, as long as he lived, did Harry forget that morning. How the Doctor's sternness all vanished; how he welcomed him and his father as if they had been his own flesh and blood; how he conducted them to the big school-room, and told the boys who it was (for Harry was so altered, scarcely any one knew him); how the room rung with deafening cheers; how the masters shook hands with them; and how he left, as the school's hero, he who, but two days since, had been roaming about the country with a travelling menagerie.

Yes! it was a grand time for Harry. Yet even this joy, even his sorrow and loneliness at his mother's grave, did not banish from his heart the wish for revenge. He had shut his ears to the words--"Vengeance is mine: I will repay, saith the Lord."

Mr Campbell had soon made up his mind with regard to Harry's future.

The two years he had been away from school were, at his age, a most serious loss to him; and all idea of his going to Oxford must be abandoned. There was not time for him to make progress sufficient to enable him to do well there; and unless he could do well, and help himself by gaining a scholarship, his father could not afford to send him to the University.

So he arranged that he should remain four years with a well-to-do farmer of his acquaintance in Herefordshire, and learn farming; at the end of that time, he should go to Australia, and try his fortune there, where so many were filling their pockets and returning to England rich men.

Within a week of the visit to Wilton, Harry was at his new abode in Herefordshire, and his father once more had joined his vessel.

It had been a sad parting from Wilton. But they had work before them both; and though their hearts sorely ached at saying good-bye to that gra.s.sy mound in Wilton churchyard, Alan spoke to his boy (feeling, himself, the truth of what he spoke), in the words of the n.o.ble-hearted American poet:

"Life is real, life is earnest, And the grave is not its goal!"

And again,

"Let us then be up doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait."

CHAPTER XX.

AVENGED AT LAST.

Homeward bound--Man overboard--Self-sacrifice--n.o.ble revenge.

Fifteen years since Harry Campbell landed in Australia, a fine, stalwart, young man of nineteen! Fifteen years of toil, crowned by success, and he was on his way to England; home to his father, a quiet, grey, old man of some three score years; home to Wilton, where the sailor had taken up his abode, near his loved one's grave, in the farm, still kept by Mrs Valentine!

Full of hope and eagerness was Harry (one must call him by his boyish name still, though he is now a man of thirty-four), on his homeward voyage, over the running waves.

He had not seen much of the other pa.s.sengers; in fact, he had kept almost entirely to himself, only entering into conversation with the captain, or any of the ship's crew that took his fancy. And many were the eyes of disappointment that in vain sought the friendship of the reserved, wealthy, homeward-bound Englishman.

He was talking to the man at the helm, when his eye caught sight of some one sitting, carelessly smoking, in a dangerous position near an open part of the ship's bulwarks. He abruptly ended his conversation, and walking across the deck, said--

"Excuse me, sir, but you are not in a very safe place."

The man addressed started, and as he turned hastily, as if to see who had presumed to dictate to him, slipped, and, clutching fruitlessly at Harry's outstretched arms, fell headlong into the sea. It was the work of a second, but in that second Harry had recognised Egerton's face!

"Man overboard! man overboard!" was the cry.

The vessel was running at a rapid pace through the water, so that she had already left the struggler in the waves, far behind.

"'Bout ship!" came the word of command; but long before the vessel answered to the helm, Harry had flung off his coat and hat, and leapt from the stern, down into the roaring waves, and striking out vigorously, reached Egerton.

It was a hard battle he had there with the waters, and he thought the boat, that speedily left the ship, would never reach them. With one hand he held up Egerton's head, while with the other he kept himself afloat. But the seconds, that seemed like hours, went on, and the boat did not come.

He was growing weaker, he knew it; his arm was stiffening, and Egerton struggling in the water with all the agony of a drowning man, hampered his movements and well nigh bore him under.

Would the boat never come? He raised himself with an effort and sent his voice along the trough of the waves, "Boat ahoy!"

That shout was heard, but it had robbed him of his remaining strength.

His eyes were dim; his brain swam; he was losing consciousness, his gallant arm fell from beneath the head it had supported, and he sank!

A few seconds afterwards the half-drowned body of Egerton was dragged into the boat that, guided by Harry's shout, had found and reached the spot. In the confusion of rescuing the one, the other had drifted away; and with heavy hearts the sailors rowed back to the ship. The life that had just been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the waters must not be sacrificed by delay. Restoratives, care, and watching did their work, and Egerton's life was spared.