She answered Flora calmly, candidly, quietly--I am almost inclined to say, in a business way that reminded one of her father.
"Dear Flo," she said--and her eyes as she spoke had a sad and far-away look in them--"it would be unmaidenly in me to say how much I should like to be your sister in reality. It may not be strange for me to think of Jack; we have liked each other, almost loved each other, since childhood."
"Listen, Flo. I _may_ love Jack, but there is one other I love even more."
"No, dear Flo, but my father. I love him more because he has few friends, and because others do not love him. I would do anything for father."
"O Gerty! poor Jack will break his heart."
She buried her face in the pillow for a few moments. She was struggling with the grief that bid fair to choke her. When she looked up again there was nothing but softness in Gerty's face, and tears were coursing down her cheeks--tears she made no effort to wipe away.
"Just two years to-day, Tom, since you and I sailed away from dear old England in the _Ocean Pride_."
"And hasn't the time flown too?" said Tom.
"Ah! but then we've been so busy. Just think of the many actions we've fought."
"True, Jack, true! What a lucky, ay, and what a glorious thing for young fellows like us to be in a ship commanded by so daring a sailor as Sir Sidney Salt!"
"Yes, Tom, yes. And think of the haul of prize-money we shall have when we once more touch British ground."
"O Jack, I _am_ surprised. Money! A Mackenzie of _the_ Mackenzies to be mercenary! Jack, Jack!"
Jack and Tom were keeping their watch--that is, it was Tom's watch, and Jack had come on deck to bear him company and talk of home.
Under every stitch of canvas, with a bracing beam wind that filled every sail, jib, and square, and stay, the bold frigate _Ocean Pride_ was skimming across the Atlantic like a veritable sea-bird. She was bound for the lone Bermudas, and the night was a heavenly one. So no wonder that, as the two young sailors leaned over the bulwarks and gazed at the moonlit water that seemed all a-shimmer with gold, their thoughts went back to their homes in merry England.
"Listen, Tom; don't call me mercenary, bo'. Did you ever hear those lines of Burns, our great national bard?--