The Christian | Page 5

his daughters being too proud to send her
to the dame's school at Peel, she was taught at home by Aunt Rachel,
who read the poetry of Thomas Moore, knew the birthdays of all the
royal family, and was otherwise meekly romantic. From this source she
gathered much curious sentiment relating to some visionary world
where young girls were held aloft in the sunshine of luxury and love
and happiness. One day she was lying on her back on the heather of the

Peel hill, with her head on her arms, thinking of a story that Aunt
Rachel had told her. It was of a mermaid who had only to slip up out of
the sea and say to any man, "Come," and he came--he left everything
and followed her. Suddenly the cold nose of a pointer rubbed against
her forehead, a strong voice cried, "Down, sir!" and a young man of
two and twenty, in leggings and a shooting-jacket, strode between her
and the cliffs. She knew him by sight. He was John Storm, the son of
Lord Storm, who had lately come to live in the mansion house at
Knockaloe, a mile up the hill from Glenfaba.
For three weeks thereafter she talked of nobody else, and even began to
comb her hair. She watched him in church, and told Aunt Rachel she
was sure he could see quite well in the dark, for his big eyes seemed to
have the light inside of them. After that she became ashamed, and if
anybody happened to mention his name in her hearing she flushed up to
the forehead and fled out of the room. He never once looked at her, and
after a while he went away to Canada. She set the clock on the back
landing to Canadian time, so that she might always know what he was
doing abroad, and then straightway forgot all about him. Her moods
followed each other rapidly, and were all of them overpowering and all
sincere, but it was not until a year afterward that she fell in love, in the
church vestry, with the pretty boy who stood opposite to her in the
catechism class.
He was an English boy of her own age, and he was only staying in the
island for his holidays. The second time she saw him it was in the
grounds at Glenfaba, while his mother was returning a call indoors. She
gave him a little tap on the arm and he had to run after her--down a
bank and up a tree, where she laughed and said. "Isn't it nice?" and he
could see nothing but her big white teeth.
His name was Francis Horatio Nelson Drake, and he was full of great
accounts of the goings-on in the outer world, where his school was, and
where lived the only "men" worth talking about. Of course he spoke of
all this familiarly and with a convincing reality which wrapped Glory
in the plumage of dreams. He was a wonderful being, altogether, and in
due time (about three days) she proposed to him. True, he did not jump

at her offer with quite proper alacrity, but when she mentioned that it
didn't matter to her in the least whether he wanted her or not, and that
plenty would be glad of the chance, he saw things differently, and they
agreed to elope. There was no particular reason for this drastic measure,
but as Glory had a boat, it seemed the right thing to do.
She dressed herself in all her Confirmation finery, and stole out to meet
him under the bridge where her boat lay moored. He kept her half an
hour waiting, having sisters and other disadvantages, but "once aboard
her lugger," he was safe. She was breathless, and he was anxious, and
neither thought it necessary to waste any time in kissing.
They slipped down the harbour and out into the bay, and then ran up
the sail and stood off for Scotland. Being more easy in mind when this
was done, they had time to talk of the future. Francis Horatio was for
work--he was going to make a name for himself. Glory did not see it
quite in that light. A name, yes, and lots of triumphal processions, but
she was for travel--there were such lots of things people could see if
they didn't waste so much time working.
"What a girl you are!" he said derisively; whereupon she bit her lip, for
she didn't quite like it. But they were nearly half an hour out before he
spoiled himself utterly. He had brought his dog, a she-terrier, and he
began to call her by her kennel name and to say what a fine little thing
she was, and what a deal of money