Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1871-08-03
ALL AT SEA.

1t was the afternoon of a dull, cloudy
day near the end of October; the carriage
in which Eleanor Grant was seated alone
drove down to the pier at Southampton al
which she was to take a vessel for tho
United States Upon reaching the vessels
deck she was somewhat startled to meet
the last person she expected or desired tC
see, Philip Armstrong. Six years ago, wher
Eleanor Grant was Twenty-Five the beau,
tiful, only daughter Of one of the richest
merchants in New York, Philip Armstrong
was a poor young lawyer, just beginning
to make his way in the profession which
has since proved fortune to him. They
were engaged with the full consent Of
every body, their mariage-day was fixed
and they would have been rapturously
happy but for one cloud in their sky
Philip was both proud and sensitive. The
idea that he might be even suspected by
the world of having sought the wealthy
hercss from mercenary motives CALLED him
to the quick, and when he Glanced tC
overhear a sneering comment on the shrewd
thing Armstrong was doing for himself in
making sure of the heiress, he was foolish
enough to trust himself in Eleanors pres
cnce while still smarting from this thrust
As i'll luck would have it, her mind was
full of matters relating to their prospective
housekeeping, and she fastened to consult
him on some point involving a considerable
outlay of money. He forgot both his pru,
dence and his good breeding. "For lIea,
vens sake, Eleanor" he said, don't ask
me to begin spending your money until We
are married 1t is the misery of my life
already, and cordially wish you had not
penny"
If Eleanor had known the annoyance
under which his pride was still chatting
she might have forgiven even this; but
she did not know it, and her anger famed
up. She answered, haughtily:
" | really ask your pardon, Sir for trou-
bling you. | had not supposed that my
money was a consideration so much more
important to you than myself"
The words were scarcely uttered before
she burned to recall them, for she saw
how he might interpret them. But she
was proud as well as he, and she sat silent
His face turned white to the very lips
He rose and took his hat from the table
His voice was husky and thick.
eff such be your belief, madam" he
said, "the sooner take my leave the bet
ter. Allow me to wish you good-evening. j
She bowed coldly, but without speaking
and he walked out Of the house.
After this they never met until this
evening, when they bowed to each Other
across Captain Barrow's dinner table in
the cabin of the GRAY Edglc. No one
would have dreamed, from the demeanol
of either, that they were other than stran.
gers. Eleanor looked pale, and said little
to any one-to Philipnothing. She seemed
rather weary and indifferent, and retired
carly. Philip talked, though it was with
great effort. lie did not address Eleanor
talked scicrcc with the surgeon, theology
with the clergyman, and drew out one Of
the captains best stories.
Eleanor was much alone. Her deer
mourning dress protected her from frivolous
intrusion, and she would sit for hours il
her favorte place on deck, reading, or look.
ing away over the blue waters. They hat
now been more than week at sea. The
wind was favorable, and they were crowd
ing sail night and day. 1t seemed to Flea
nor that they were making splendid pro
gress, yet she could not rid herself of {
vague feeling that something was wrong
The weather was fine, but she noticed
that Captain Barrow studied the baromete,
with constant and, she thought, anxious
attention. His manner, too, usually 81
hearty and free, had grown gloomy anC
distracted; he was nervously watchful .
every little circumstance, and was often il
apparently anxious consultation with hi
officers. Something was wrong with tn
sailors too. There were whisperings AM
looks Of sullen discomfort and perpetua
sound Of hammering and carpenter-worl
seemed to be going on in some part of tn
vessel
1t was Just before sunset of the mint
day out. Eleanor was sitting in her usua
place. The captain was standing befor
his barometer, when Philip Armstrong
came by and spoke to him. They were s.
near that she could easily hear what the,
said, though her face was turned iron
them and her eyes fixed on her book.
"What does the glass say, captain ?"
"Set fair" replied the other, cheerfully
$50 far good; everything seems favorabl
for us. | think we shall have quick run.
Good grant it p said the captain, earn
estly.
"You speak with fervor. Does nue.
hang on the speed of our voyage ?"
The captain threw quick glance around
and lowered his tore as he answered
"Eoe,y thing depends upon ourspeed now
We are running for our lives"
"What do you mean ?" demanded Phil
sternly.
81 mean that the ship has been on fire 70
three days." ...
The appalling announcement struck Phil
ip dumb. The captain went on: "My pas
sengers had right, perhaps, to have know
this before but kept hoping we shout
conquer the fire You see we have
quantity of coal in ballast, and the mis-
chief is there. We have battened an
smothered it down, and if we could b
sure of keeping the air from it would no
be afraid for another fortnight. / hav
known ship go safely into port with fir
in her hold that had burned three weeks
But we have an inhammable cargo, and
it reaches that we are gone"
''But surely we must meet some vessel.
"There is less chance of that, as we ar
off our course now. am running for tn
Azores; it is the best we can do. With
fair wind we may make the port of Faya
by the day after tomorrow. But Octobe
weather is treacberous, and the ship is no
worked as she ought to be. If any trouble
should arise, | have no confidence in m.
rev."
How is chat ?"