Beryl's Triumph by Eglanton Thorne

THE morning after the storm dawned so fresh and beautiful that it seemed as if Nature were anxious to atone for her wrath and passion of the previous night. The breeze was light and sportive; such clouds as the sky showed were hurrying out of sight as fast as possible; the sea, on which the sun was pouring his warm rays, though still high, no longer dashed on the shore with devouring rage, but only heaved and flowed with the buoyancy of full life.

But the brightness of the day could not make amends for the ruin which the storm had wrought. On every side were heard complaints of loss and disaster. Some of the fishermen had lost their boats, others their nets; and the loss of their means of livelihood was a serious calamity for these poor men to face, involving, as it did, want and starvation for their wives and families. But the greatest loss of all was the loss of life, and with sad hearts, the few who had been saved from shipwreck counted the number of their comrades who had gone down to death in the dark waters. Several bodies were washed ashore during the course of that day, along with pieces of the wreck-barrels, life-buoys, seamen's jerseys, and articles of various kinds belonging to the fittings of a ship. The drowned were handled with reverent pity by the kindly folk of Egloshayle, and decent burial given them in the churchyard. There were only a few in the Cornish village, and those persons of recognised bad character, who could rejoice in the spoil the sea brought them that day, and showed greedy haste in bearing it away.

The vessel so cruelly wrecked was a merchant ship from Montreal, bound for Swansea. She had carried no passengers save the lady and child now sheltered in Mr. Hollys' home, and the gentleman who had perished. The sailors shook their heads when they heard that the lady was still very ill. It would go hard with her, they feared, for she had been an invalid when she came on board, and they had understood that the gentleman was making this voyage mainly for the benefit of his wife's health.

Beryl awoke on this bright March morning with the sense of a strange weight upon her mind. She could not understand what made her feel so heavy-hearted, till she saw that she was not lying as usual in her own little bed, but on a somewhat frail couch, which Lucy had hastily arranged for her. Then she remembered all, and sprang up, that she might take a look at the little companion who had been brought to her so strangely on the previous night. The child was sleeping peacefully in the bed close by. Beryl crept quietly to her side, and looked at her with a glance of love and pity, for a sense of the child's great loss was still prominent in her mind. The child looked very pretty as she lay with one arm bent beneath her curly head, and the long, dark eyelashes resting on her soft, pale cheek. Beryl stooped and kissed her very gently, so as not to rouse her.

"What a dear little thing she is! " said Beryl to herself. "I wonder what her name is! How I should like to have her for a little sister! I never thought before that I should care for a sister."

At this moment Lucy entered the room. She exclaimed at seeing Miss Beryl standing with bare feet on the cold matting.

"Hush, Lucy," said Beryl, in a shrill whisper, giving her nurse an indignant glance. "You will wake the child if you make such a noise, and she looks so tired, poor little thing."

Lucy made no reply, but quietly fetched the young lady's shoes and stockings from the other side of the room, and Beryl had time to observe that her nurse's eyes were very red, as though she had been weeping.

"Whatever is the matter with you, Lucy? " she asked. "What have you been crying about? Has Aunt Cecilia been scolding you again?"

"Oh no, it's not that, Miss Beryl," replied Lucy, "it's about my brother. They have been telling me what danger he was in last night; and I can't help thinking whatever I should have done if I had lost him."

"But he is all right, is he not? " asked Beryl. "He was not hurt at all, was he?"

"Oh no; he is quite safe and well; not hurt, at least, as I know of," said Lucy.

"Then why ever should you cry? " demanded Beryl, in a tone of astonishment. "I should think you ought to be very glad that he was able to save this little girl and her mother. I think it was so good and brave of him. I should be quite proud of my brother if I were you. Why, I heard papa talking of it last night, and he said Joe deserved a medal from the Royal Humane Society, and he thought he would very likely get it too. Does not that please you, Lucy?"

"Yes, it's all very fine," said Lucy, tears coming into her eyes as she spoke; "and of course I'm proud of Joe; but I reckon the Royal Humane Society could not have brought him to life again if he had been drowned; and he is the only brother I've got, and I can't help thinking how different it might have been."

"Well, really, Lucy, you are silly to cry over what has not happened," said plain-spoken, practical Beryl. "Think what it is for this poor little girl to lose her father. That is a real thing, and far worse."

"Ah, poor child, I should not wonder if she were to lose her mother too," said Lucy, showing no resentment of her young lady's freedom of speech, to which she was probably well accustomed.

"What do you mean, Lucy? " said Beryl, looking frightened.

"The poor lady is very ill," said Lucy; "for a lady they say she is; and, indeed, I was sure of it as soon as I saw her pretty white hands with the rings upon them. The doctor says the shock may kill her."

"Oh, Lucy, what a dreadful thing! " said Beryl, tears coming into her eyes at the thought. "Whatever will become of this poor little thing if she loses her mother too!"

"I can't tell, I'm sure," replied Lucy. "Perhaps she has friends who will take care of her."