Jeff Benson, Robert Michael Ballantyne [ebook reader android .txt] 📗

eyes to see Jesus, and all things in relation to Him. For a long time he did not speak. The lips of his nurse were also silent, but her heart was not so. At last Jeff spoke--

"It _must_ be so. Perfection is bound to work out perfection. This apparent evil _must_ be for good. `He doeth all things well.' Surely I have read that somewhere!"

In a low clear voice his nurse said--


"`He doeth all things well,'
We say it now with tears;
But we shall sing it with those we love
Through bright eternal years."


"I think the light is dawning, auntie."

"I am _sure_ it is, Jeff."

Again they were silent, and thus they remained while the natural light faded, until the western sky and sea were dyed in crimson.

The first thing that diverted their thoughts was a quick step outside, then a thunderous knock at the door, and next moment the captain stood before them, beaming with excitement, panting heavily, and quite unable for some minutes to talk coherently.

"Sister," said he at last, "sit down an' listen. Jeff, open your ears."

He drew a crumpled letter from his pocket, spread it on his knee, put on his glasses, and read as follows:--

"`My DEAR CAPTAIN MILLET,--

"`You will, I know, be grieved, though not surprised, to hear that your old friend Nibsworth is dead. Poor fellow! his end came much as you and I had anticipated when we last parted. He followed his dear Clara about two months after her death. I suppose you know that she died three days after you left their house.

"`My object in writing just now, however, is to convey to you a piece of good news; namely, that Nibsworth has left you the whole of his property, which, altogether, cannot amount to less, I should think, than eighty thousand pounds.'"

At this point the captain paused and looked over his glasses at his sister, who, with wide-open eyes, exclaimed--

"Brother! he must be joking!"

"Sister," returned the captain, "my friend _never_ jokes, except when in extremely congenial society, and then his jokes are bad--so bad as to be unworthy of repetition."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Miss Millet.

"Singular," murmured Jeff, whose thoughts seemed to be engaged with some far-off prospect.

"He goes on," continued the captain, reading: "`I am left the sole executor of his affairs. Pray, therefore, write as to what you wish done. I am not at present conversant with the precise duties of an executor, but of course I will get the best advice possible in the circumstances, and do the best I can. I would recommend you to do the same at your end of the world, and let me have your instructions as soon as possible. The enclosed statement will show you the nature of your property. The greater part, you will observe, is in hard cash. I may add that the house and grounds here would sell well at present, if you feel inclined to dispose of them.

"`In conclusion, allow me to congratulate you on this piece of good fortune--perhaps, knowing your character so well, I should have written, this good gift from God.'"

"Ay, my friend," said the captain, folding the letter, "you might have written, `this unexpected and undeserved gift from God.' But now, Molly, what think ye of it all?"

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the good lady in reply; and beyond this word she seemed unable to go for a time, save that, after a strong mental effort, she varied it to "amazing!" Suddenly she seemed to recover, and said with a quick, earnest look--

"Dick, what are you going to do?"

"Do?" exclaimed Captain Millet, smiting his knee and looking from his sister to Jeff with a broad smile. "I'll run up to London, an' take a mansion in the West End, call at Long Acre in passing, and buy a carriage and four. Then I'll run down to Folkestone an' buy a villa there, or a castle if they have one in stock; if not, I'll order one o' the newest pattern, with gas, water, electricity, and steam laid on. After that I'll buy a steam-yacht and take a trip round the world, so as to calm my brain and think over it. Of course I'll drop in at Hong Kong, in passing, to have a look at my property; and then--"

"Hush, brother! don't run on with such nonsense when we ought to be only filled with serious thoughts."

"How can a man be filled with serious thoughts, Molly, when a sort of Arabian Nights' affair has tumbled on him all of a sudden--took him aback like a white squall, and thrown him on his beam-ends?"

"And what a selfish fellow you are, too!" said Jeff; "not one word in all you propose to do about anybody except yourself--no mention even of Rosebud."

"Pooh! Jeff, are you so green as not to know that a wise man never puts his best foot foremost? Don't you know that it is usual, when a man makes a speech, to keep tumblin' out one point after another--clinkin' 'em all as he goes along--until he comes to the `last but not _least_' point? If you had let me alone, Molly, I was comin' to Rosebud and yourself too; but as you've been so unmannerly, I'll keep these points till another time. By the way, when you write to Rosebud, not a word about all this. It might unsettle the darlin' with her lessons. An' that reminds me that one o' my first businesses will be to have her supplied wi' the best of teachers--French, Italian, Spanish, German masters--Greek an' Hebrew an' Dutch ones too if the dear child wants 'em--to say nothin' o' dancin' an' drawin' an' calisthenics an' mathematics, an' the use o' the globes, an' conundrums o' that sort."

"Really, brother, if you go on like this, I'll begin to think your good fortune, as you call it, has turned your brain."

"Never fear, Molly, when I come to say what I'm going to do about the little church, an' the night-classes, an' the soup-kitchens, and the model-houses and the swimming-bath, you'll whistle another tune. But come, Jeff; it's time to ask how you are gettin' along. You look better, my boy."

"I _am_ better, captain--much, _much_ better," returned the youth, with a flushed cheek and sparkling eye, "for I, too, have got news this morning of a fortune which exceeds yours in value, and the security is better."

The captain was puzzled. "A fortune, Jeff?"

"Yes; but my news will keep. You are too much excited to hear about it just now. Enough to say that I am much better. Now, if you are wise, you will go without delay and take some steps about this affair."

"You're right, lad," returned the captain, rising quietly and clapping on his hat; "so good-bye to 'ee both. I'll soon be back. At present I'm off to consult my--my--solicitor! though I don't know who he is yet, more than the man in the moon."


CHAPTER SEVEN.


AN UNQUIET, ADVENTUROUS MORNING IN THE SHELL-CAVE.

"I think," said Jeff Benson one fine morning, as he got up and stretched himself, "that I feel well enough to-day to get down to the shore without assistance. You know, auntie, I shall never be able to walk alone if I give way to laziness, and lean so much on others. I'm like the babies now, and must be encouraged to try it on my own hook."

He looked at Miss Millet with a half-pitiful smile, for there was something woefully true in his words, and his good little nurse found it necessary to go in search of the household keys for a minute or so before answering.

"Well, Jeff, perhaps you are right and the day is splendid--sunny, calm, and warm--so you won't be likely to catch cold. Only don't go far, for you might become tired out. So, promise that you won't go far, and then I will let you go."

Jeff promised; but of course he did not do exactly as his nurse wished, for, in such circumstances, the word "far" has a wonderfully varied significance. At first, leaning on his stick and pausing frequently to recover strength, he made his way to the shore; but when there, the invigorating air and the exhilarating sound of ripples on the sand, and a rest on the rocks, made him feel so much better, that he thought he might walk the length of the shell-cave without breaking his promise.

He tried, and succeeded, but was so fatigued, when at length he threw himself on the soft sand at the cave's mouth, that he felt uneasy about getting home again.

The shell-cave was a favourite nook in a lonely part of the cliffs, which Jeff had been wont to frequent in his coastguard days, especially at that particular time when he seemed to expect the revival of the smuggling traffic near Miss Millet's cottage. He had frequently spoken of it to Rose as a beautiful spot where innumerable sea-shells were to be found, and had once taken her to see it.

It was, as we have said, a lonely spot, far removed from the fishing town, and was sought out by Jeff because he did not yet feel strong enough to hold much intercourse with his friends and former mates--none of whom had seen him since his illness began. But the poor invalid was doomed to several interruptions that day.

The first comer was his comrade Wilson, of the coastguard, whose place he had taken on the eventful night of the wreck. On rounding the point of rock, and coming suddenly on our hero, that worthy was struck dumb and motionless for at least a minute, while his eyes gradually opened wide with surprise, and his mouth partially followed suit.

"Not Jeff Benson!" said Wilson at last, in quite a solemn tone.

"What's left of him," answered Jeff, with a faint smile.

"An' it ain't much!" returned Wilson, with a kind of gasp, as he approached softly.

"Not much more than the bones an' clothes," said Jeff, with a laugh at his friend's expression; "also," he added more seriously, "a good deal of the spirit, thank God. How are all the lads, Wilson?"

The man tried to answer, but could not. The sight of his old stalwart chum so reduced was too much for him. He could only go down on one knee, and take the thin large hand in his. Seeing this, Jeff returned his squeeze, and relieved him by saying--

"You can beat me now, Wilson, but I could squeeze till I made you howl once, and mayhap I'll do it again--who knows? But you must not think me unkind if I ask you to leave me, Wilson. The Doctor is always insisting that I must keep quiet; so, good-day to you, my boy, an' remember me kindly to my comrades."

The next visitor, who appeared half an hour later, was the terrier dog of the station. Bounce belonged, of right, to David Bowers, but, being amiable, it acknowledged the part-ownership of all the men. On suddenly beholding Jeff, it rushed at him with a mingled bark and squeal of joy, and