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But it would never do to tell Aunt Mary. Yet Miss Wardrop must of course be told. Helen was twenty-five years of age and her own mistress, but Boston in the blood dies hard.
"I am stopping with my aunt, Miss Wardrop, at thirteen Washington Square, North. If you and I are to go into the harness business together, I hope you will come and bring your price lists and things, won't you?" "Thank you. I will surely come," the underwriter answered simply.
At first they thought of carrying my brother and Esau Wardrop with them as prisoners; but one of them said it would be as well to give the wyte of the burning, at headquarters, to the rebels; so they left them behind.
My brother and one of them, Esau Wardrop, the wife's brother of James Gottera, who had been so instrumental in my evasion, were providentially enabled to get out and flee; but the other two were taken by the soldiers and carried to prison.
Wardrop was buried in thought, and scratched imaginary lines with his untrimmed finger-nails on the planking. "I make no promise," he said, at last, "for I can't say what may or may not have happened to them. But here's the ship, and here's us." There was a little scornful laughter at this, and Mr. Wardrop knitted his brows.
Wardrop, of Torbane Hill, which you might palm off upon most laymen as a Rembrandt; and close by, you saw the white head of John Clerk, of Eldin, that country gentleman who, playing with pieces of cork on his own dining-table, invented modern naval warfare.
The forward cylinder was depending on that unknown force men call the pertinacity of materials, which now and then balances that other heartbreaking power, the perversity of inanimate things. "You see!" said Mr. Wardrop, hurrying them away. "The engines aren't worth their price as old iron." "We tow," was the answer. "Afterwards we shall confiscate."
There were fires everywhere, they say; the whole ship was one consuming furnace, and the hammers were never still. Now, there could not have been more than one fire at the most, for Mr. Wardrop distinctly recalls that no straightening was done except under his own eye.
Now all these wanderings and this companionship could not go wholly for naught. Smith was not at all a sentimental person, and Miss Maitland was not in search of emotional adventure, but they were on hazardous ground, and it was hazardous because it was very pleasant to them both. Miss Mary Wardrop was a lady in whom discretion was held in but lukewarm esteem.
Wardrop wrote up on the engine-room bulkhead. Fifteen days had gone fifteen days of killing labour and there was hope before them. It is curious that no man knows how the rods were straightened. The crew of the Haliotis remember that week very dimly, as a fever patient remembers the delirium of a long night.
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