"Hee! hee!" observed Poopy.
"Stand by to let go the anchor!" shouted Montague.
Instantly bustle and noise prevailed everywhere. The crew of the lost frigate had started up on hearing the order, but having no stations to run to, they expended the energy that had been awakened, in shuffling about and opening an animated conversation in undertones.
Soon the schooner swept round the point that had hitherto shut out the view of Sandy Cove, and a few minutes later the rattling of the chain announced that the voyage of the Foam had terminated.
Immediately after, a boat was lowered, and Gascoyne was conveyed by a party of marines to the shore, and lodged in the prison which had been but recently occupied by our friend John Bumpus.
Mrs. Stuart had purposely kept out of the way when she heard of the arrival of the Foam. She knew Gascoyne so well that she felt sure he would succeed in recapturing his schooner. But she also knew that in doing this he would necessarily release Montague from his captivity, in which case it was certain that the pirate captain, having promised to give himself up, would be led on shore a prisoner. She could not bear to witness this; but no sooner did she hear of his being lodged in jail than she prepared to visit him.
As she was about to issue from her cottage, Henry met her, and clasped her in his arms. The meeting would have doubtless been a warmer one had the mother known what a narrow escape her son had so recently had. But Mrs. Stuart was accustomed to part from Henry for weeks at a time, and regarded this return in much the same light as former home-comings, except in so far as he had news of their lost friends to give her. She welcomed him therefore with a kiss and a glad smile, and then hurried him into the house to inquire about the result of the voyage.
"I have already heard of your success in finding Alice and our friends. Come, tell me more."
"Have you heard how nearly I was lost, mother?"
"Lost!" exclaimed the widow, in surprise; "no, I have heard nothing of that."
Henry rapidly narrated his escape from the wreck of the Wasp, and then, looking earnestly in his mother's anxious face he said, slowly: "But you do not ask for Gascoyne, mother. Do you know that he is now in the jail?"
The widow looked perplexed. "I know it," said she, "I was just going to see him when you came in."
"Ah, mother," said Henry, reproachfully, "why did you not tell me sooner about Gascoyne?"
He was interrupted here by Corrie and Alice rushing into the room, the latter of whom threw herself into the widow's arms and burst into tears, while Master Corrie indulged in some eccentric bounds and cheers by way of relieving his feelings. For some time Henry allowed them to talk eagerly to each other; then he told Corrie and Alice that he had something of importance to say to his mother, and led her into an adjoining room.
Corrie had overheard the words spoken by Henry just as he entered, and great was his curiosity to know what was the mystery connected with the pirate captain. This curiosity was intensified when he heard a half-suppressed shriek in the room where mother and son were closeted. For one moment he was tempted to place his ear to the keyhole! But a blush covered his fat cheeks at the very thought of acting such a disgraceful part. Like a wise fellow, he did not give the tempter a second opportunity, but, seizing the hand of his companion, said:
"Come along, Alice; we'll go seek for Bumpus."
Half an hour afterwards the widow stood at the jail door. The jailer was an intimate friend, and considerately retired during the interview.
"O Gascoyne! has it come to this?" She sat down beside the pirate, and grasped one of his manacled hands in both of hers.
"Even so, Mary; my hour has come. I do not complain of my doom. I have brought it on myself."
"But why not try to escape?" said Mrs. Stuart, earnestly. "There are some here who could aid you in the matter."
Here the widow attempted to reason with Gascoyne, as her son had done before, but with similar want of success. Gascoyne remained immovable. He did indeed betray deep emotion while the woman reasoned with him, in tones of intense earnestness; but he would not change his mind. He said that if Montague, as the representative of the law, would set him free in consideration of what he had recently done, he would accept of liberty; but nothing could induce him to escape.
Leaving him in this mode, Mrs. Stuart hurried to the cottage where Montague had taken up his abode.
The young captain received her kindly. Having learned from Corrie all about the friendship that existed between the widow and Gascoyne, he listened with the utmost consideration to her.
"It is impossible," said he, shaking his head; "I cannot set him free."
"Do his late services weigh nothing with you?" pleaded the widow.
"My dear madam," replied Montague, sorrowfully, "you forget that I am not his judge. I have no right to weigh the circumstances of his case. He is a convicted and self-acknowledged pirate. My only duty is to convey him to England, and hand him over to the officers of justice. I sympathize with you, indeed I do; for you seem to take his case to heart very much; but I cannot help you. I must do my duty. The Foam will be ready for sea in a few days. In it I shall convey Gascoyne to England."
"O Mr. Montague! I do take his case to heart, as you say, and no one on this earth has more cause to do so. Will it interest you more in Gascoyne, and induce you to use your influence in his favor, if I tell you that—that—he is my husband?"
"Your husband!" cried Montague, springing up, and pacing the apartment with rapid strides.
"Aye," said Mrs. Stuart, mournfully, covering her face with her hands. "I had hoped that this secret would die with me and him; but in the hope that it may help, ever so little, to save his life, I have revealed it to you."
"Believe me, the secret shall be safe in my keeping," said Montague, tenderly, as he sat down again, and drew his chair near to that of Mrs. Stuart. "But, alas! I do not see how it is possible for me to help your husband. I will use my utmost influence to mitigate his sentence; but I cannot, I dare not set him free."
The poor woman sat pale and motionless while the captain said this. She began to perceive that all hope was gone, and felt despair settling down on her heart.
"What will be his doom," said she, in a husky voice, "if his life is spared?"
"I do not know. At least I am not certain. My knowledge of criminal law is very slight, but I should suppose it would be transportation for—"
Montague hesitated, and could not find it in his heart to add the word "life."
Without uttering a word, Mrs. Stuart rose, and, staggering from the room, hastened with a quick, unsteady step toward her own cottage.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A Peculiar Confidant—More Difficulties, and Various Plans to Overcome Them
When Alice Mason was a little child, there was a certain tree near her father's house to which, in her hours of sorrow, she was wont to run and tell it all the grief of her overflowing heart. She firmly believed that this tree heard and understood and sympathized with all that she said. There was a hole in the stem into which she was wont to pour her complaints; and when she had thus unburdened her heart to her silent confidant, she felt comforted, as one feels when a human friend has shared one's sorrows.
When the child became older, and her sorrows were heavier, and, perhaps, more real, her well-nurtured mind began to rise to a higher source for comfort. Habit and inclination led her indeed to the same tree; but when she kneeled upon its roots and leaned against its stem, she poured out her heart into the bosom of Him who is ever present, and who can be touched with a feeling of our infirmities.