The first break in our repose came early in the new year.There had been no Christmas letter from Guy,and he never once in all his wanderings had missed writing home at Christmas time.When the usual monthly mail came in,and no word from him--a second month,and yet nothing,we began to wonder about his omission less openly--to cease scolding him for his carelessness.Though over and over again we still eagerly brought up instances of the latter--"Guy is such a thoughtless boy about his correspondence."Gradually,as his mother's cheek grew paler,and his father more anxious-eyed,more compulsorily cheerful,we gave up discussing publicly the many excellent reasons why no letters should come from Guy.We had written,as usual,by every mail.By the last--by the March mail,I saw that in addition to the usual packet for Mr.Guy Halifax--his father,taking another precautionary measure,had written in business form to "Messrs.Guy Halifax and Co."Guy had always,"just like his carelessness!"omitted to give the name of his partner;but addressed thus,in case of any sudden journey or illness of Guy's,the partner,whoever he was,would be sure to write.
In May--nay,it was on May day,I remember,for we were down in the mill-meadows with Louise and her little ones going a-maying--there came in the American mail.
It brought a large packet--all our letters of this year sent back again,directed in a strange hand,to "John Halifax,Esquire,Beechwood,"with the annotation,"By Mr.Guy Halifax's desire."Among the rest--though the sickening sight of them had blinded even his mother at first,so that her eye did not catch it,was one that explained--most satisfactorily explained,we said--the reason they were thus returned.It was a few lines from Guy himself,stating that unexpected good fortune had made him determine to come home at once.If circumstances thwarted this intention,he would write without fail;otherwise he should most likely sail by an American merchantman--the "Stars-and-Stripes.""Then he is coming home.On his way home!"
And the mother,as with one shaking hand she held fast the letter,with the other steadied herself by the rail of John's desk--I guessed now why he had ordered all the letters to be brought first to his counting-house."When do you think we shall see--Guy?"At thought of that happy sight,her bravery broke down.She wept heartily and long.
John sat still,leaning over the front of his desk.By his sigh,deep and glad,one could tell what a load was lifted off the father's heart at the prospect of his son's return.
"The liners are only a month in sailing;but this is a barque most likely,which takes longer time.Love,show me the date of the boy's letter."She looked for it herself.It was in JANUARY!
The sudden fall from certainty to uncertainty--the wild clutch at that which hardly seemed a real joy until seen fading down to a mere hope,a chance,a possibility--who has not known all this?
I remember how we all stood,mute and panic-struck,in the dark little counting-house.I remember seeing Louise,with her children in the door-way,trying to hush their laughing,and whispering to them something about "poor Uncle Guy."John was the first to grasp the unspoken dread,and show that it was less than at first appeared.
"We ought to have had this letter two months ago;this shows how often delays occur--we ought not to be surprised or uneasy at anything.Guy does not say when the ship was to sail--she may be on her voyage still.If he had but given the name of her owners!But Ican write to Lloyd's and find out everything.Cheer up,mother.
Please God,you shall have that wandering,heedless boy of yours back before long."He replaced the letters in their enclosure--held a general consultation,into which he threw a passing gleam of faint gaiety,as to whether being ours we had a right to burn them,or whether having passed through the post-office they were not the writer's but the owner's property,and Guy could claim them,with all their useless news,on his arrival in England.This was finally decided,and the mother,with faint smile,declared that nobody should touch them;she would put them under lock and key "till Guy came home."Then she took her husband's arm;and the rest of us followed them as they walked slowly up the hill to Beechwood.
But after that day Mrs.Halifax's strength decayed.Not suddenly,scarcely perceptibly;not with any outward complaint,except what she jested over as "the natural weakness of old age;"but there was an evident change.Week by week her long walks shortened;she gave up her village school to me;and though she went about the house still and insisted on keeping the keys,gradually,"just for the sake of practice,"the domestic surveillance fell into the hands of Maud.
An answer arrived from Lloyd's:the "Stars-and-Stripes"was an American vessel,probably of small tonnage and importance,was the under-writers knew nothing of it.
More delay--more suspense.The summer days came--but not Guy.No news of him--not a word--not a line.
His father wrote to America--pursuing inquiries in all directions.
At last some tangible clue was caught.The "Stars-and-Stripes"had sailed,had been spoken with about the Windward Isles--and never heard of afterwards.
