The training of decades, the inbred desire to suppress thoughts and control the mind, supervened. He lightly passed his hand over the smoothening brow, caressing the thick hair upon his temple and the old gentle smile appeared again in his eyes. “Well, I have run a long race--and on the homestretch I am beaten. _Vivat sequens!_” he whispered to himself.
He rose and walked freely to the rail, contemplating the wondrous evening, admiring the marvelous light effects in the now rapidly darkening sky. He gazed at the minute wavelets springing from the sides of the boat and spreading their gory crests endlessly toward the east, ever widening and disappearing in purplish black shadows. The first stars as if by magic had leaped upon the zenith, new born, blinking mockingly to him.
A smile gentler than before illuminated the fine features. “God is great, nature is full of wonders, and I shall not cry quits and sulk. There is work before you, my boy, work and duty. And when that is done, my beloved, I shall be glad to join you.”
With a deep sigh and a proud smile he wearily turned toward the line of cabins from whence a light step now proceeded.
His valet came forward, cap in hand. “Your Excellency, dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Will you not come to your room, sir?”
“Very good, Jean; but I believe I shall not dress to-night. I am fatigued and I expect no one else will. Just a little touching up and a dark coat and scarf. I shall follow you.”
Musing, he turned once more to the waters which had lost their mirror-like smoothness upon entering the narrow channel. Before him rose the escarpment of Perim’s forts, with their twinkling lights; the breeze carried to his ears the bugle call from the barracks, the one discordant sound in the serene stillness of the fairy landscape.
“Gate to an ocean--England will hold it,” he muttered. “Passage to power and trade--Albion will rule it. Other nations may strive and plan, dream and scheme, but Albion takes and holds. I wonder if, when my last call comes, I shall find a Briton guarding the Pearly Gates? Well, I have done the best I could for my king and my country. I must not grudge the men who have done theirs for their queen and land--and with more glorious and happier results. The race is to the swift, the laurel to the victor, glory to the lucky! L’homme propose, Dieu dispose!”