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Chapter XVII.

Oh, now, for ever,
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!

—Othello.

As Mr. Bruce was about to step on board the Union Steam Ship Company's favourite steamer “Wairarapa” at Lyttelton, on his way to Wellington, the following telegram from his wife was handed to him:—

“Return, if possible, at once. Flora missing since yesterday afternoon.”

The news contained in this message threw him into a condition of severe anxiety. Since leaving Dunedin the previous evening he had had leisure to reflect on the last conversation he had with his wife, and his thoughts did not tend to calm the tumult rising within his breast at the information Mrs. Bruce had then given him. He had passed his waking hours on the steamer in a state of mind bordering on fear for his daughter's future.

Now that his attention had been drawn to the subject, and he had given it some thought, he resolved to take active steps on his return home with a view to bringing his daughter's course of life more under the control of reason and parental care. During the day of the steamer's detention in Lyttelton, he had business which took him up to Christchurch, and occupied his mind fully; but while returning to Lyttelton in the train his thought had reverted page 120 to the somewhat troublesome topic, and when the telegram was placed in his hands he was not without some premonition of evil.

Of course, Mr. Bruce lost no time in returning to Dunedin. He had to wait for the morning train. A reply to his telegram to Mrs. Bruce did not bring him any reassuring intelligence, and the hours of suspense passed in the railway carriage were not calculated to prepare him for the information on his arrival that no trace of his daughter could be found.

She had evidently left the house while Mrs. Bruce was seeing her husband off in the steamer, and without giving any indication of where she was going.

None of the servants had seen her leave, nor was her absence noticed until her mother returned, and went to her room for the purpose of speaking to her. Search had been made wherever there was any likelihood of her having gone, and with the assistance of Detective Fane, to whom Harry went in their extremity, vigorous enquiries were made in several directions. Mr. Bruce felt acutely that during his absence the uneasiness of his wife should be so soon justified, and lost no time in setting about what enquiries he could make that night. He considered it wise to enlist the full assistance of the police, and soon had the satisfaction of knowing that no effort was wanting in the search.

Mr. and Mrs. Bruce retired that night with heavy hearts to seek the rest so much needed by both after the previous sleepless nights. On his mind were the constant thoughts that he had made light of his wife's warning—that he had regarded with too much indifference the motherly instincts which had given her a presaging of evil, and caused her to speak as she did regarding their daughter. That he had entirely neglected his wife's forebodings was the first page 121 reproach that seized him. Far into the night he lay awake thinking over plans of search, forming resolutions as to how he would meet his daughter and act towards her on her recovery; then worn out with worry and anxiety, he dropped off into a troubled, dreamy sleep, and woke the following morning rested but not refreshed, his mind alive with anticipations of the day's events.

Leaving his wife still sleeping, he hurried to the police station and such other centres of enquiry where tidings might be gained of the search, but only to return disappointed to meet the anxious face of the sorrowing mother without affording her the only consolation she desired. Mrs. Bruce wore a sad and worried expression; tears filled her eyes as she met and embraced her husband, and seeing no gleam of hope on his countenance, her lips quivered, and her trembling frame spoke eloquently to the husband and father of the struggle going on within the breast of his cherished partner. Together they sat down to a dull and silent breakfast, their hearts too full of grief and sympathy for words. After the meal began, and Mrs. Bruce had handed her husband his cup, she broke out into tears, and he knew that the best medicine for her tortured mind was being administered by the hand of beneficent Nature. For some moments Mr. Bruce let his wife's tears fall in silence, then, rising from his seat, he approached her, and as she rose to meet him he gently laid her head upon his shoulder, and uttered a few consoling words.

Then she spoke. “Oh! Edward! something terrible has happened. I dreamt last night of Flora.”

“What did you dream, dear?” he said, sympathetically leading her again to a seat, and standing with his arm around her neck.

Then she told her dream. In a voice quivering with emotion, she said—

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“I saw Flora dressed in bridal robes being led to the altar, where a bridegroom, whose face I could not see, stood waiting for her. When the bride approached, a bright light shone all around him, and seemed to envelop her also in its transcendent glory. After a moment it became brighter and brighter, and seemed to gather the bride and bridegroom in an embrace of flame, and waft them away from my sight, leaving the church so dark that the terrible feeling which came over me at the change caused me to start and call out for help. So dreadful were my feelings that I seemed to wish for light, and nothing could give it; and then gradually the darkness became less dense, and a vapoury mist was left, through which I looked, and saw floating away in the distance a vision, which I recognised as Flora, being borne from me on the wings of a form, like nothing I had ever seen before, enveloped in a fiery globe. This, as I gazed, seemed to go from my sight gradually, as if fading into an infinity of distance, and finally disappeared from view. Then, as I looked around me, I found myself alone in the still, quiet church, and the bridal veil which Flora had worn was torn and mangled at my feet. When I took this in my hand it seemed to fall to pieces at my touch, and each part of it crumbled into dust as I grasped it. When I looked again towards the altar I saw two figures, one on each side of it, as of cherubim, one of whom smilingly pointed heavenwards, while the other, with saddened face and slowly moving finger, motioned as if commanding me to look towards a certain window of the church. On turning my head in this direction, my gaze met the clear cold lines of the stone erected over the grave of our dear lost son. At the sight of this I seemed to faint gradually away, and remembered nothing more until I awoke trembling and excited.”

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When Mrs. Bruce finished telling her dream, she broke out afresh into a flood of tears—tears of such soothing influence that her husband was glad to let her cry on, convinced that her trouble needed, and would be softened by, this comforting outlet.

Then Mr. Bruce dried his wife's tears, and offered her such consolation as could be drawn from the fact that every effort was being made to find her daughter. He was now himself going to aid in the search, and felt convinced he would shortly return with some good news on the subject.

The morning was dull and wet, everything being enveloped in a thick fog, so that nothing of the surrounding scenery could be seen beyond a distance of a few hundred yards. At frequent intervals through the fog, showers of fine but quickly-wetting rain fell, and the city and suburbs were experiencing what is designated a “Scotch mist.”

* * * * * *

At the Forbury racecourse active training was going on for an approaching meeting; and some trainers, when the course is wet, take advantage of the firm sands of the adjacent beach on which to exercise their horses.

On that morning two riders were out early, and starting from the further end of the beach, galloped smartly in the direction of St. Clair. Both were intent on watching their horses, and rode closely and carefully, “extending” the animals gradually to racing speed.

As they drew towards the rocks at St. Clair, the horse nearest the breakers swerved and jumped suddenly as if to avoid some obstacle on the sand, nearly throwing his rider. With an effort the youth recovered himself, however, and the riders pulled up almost immediately, and turned their horses for the return ride.

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Walking for some distance, they saw in front of them what appeared to be the object which had startled the animal. Reclining on the sand, as if waiting for the incoming tide to wake it, lay what in the distance appeared to be a sleeping seal.

This was what suggested itself to one of the riders, as he said to his companion—

“Steady, Tom; there's a bloomin' seal lyin' dry on the beach. Here, take my moke, an' see if I can't get it.”

Then he jumped from his horse and handed the reins to his companion, who stood still, to give him a chance to get close to the seal without noise.

“Lend me your whip, Tom, it's got a heavy knob; mine's too light.”

Having procured the heavier whip, he proceeded quietly towards the object.

His companion saw him approach between it and the water, close up to where it lay, and then stand gazing intenty at it. Then he beckoned towards him, and, as he approached, called out—

“It's a dead girl!”

The other went up hurriedly, and together they stood silently contemplating the stiff cold figure before them. One touched the small white hand which lay upon the motionless breast, felt it cold and damp, and shuddered as he then pressed his hand on the chest, which would no more respond in faint heaving to the touch of mortal fingers.

“She's stone dead!” he said, turning to his companion; “what'll we do, Tom?”

“You stay here, and I'll ride up for Sergeant Murphy,” was the ready reply.

This course was agreed upon, so Tom started off to report matters to the nearest policeman, leaving the other to watch by the unconscious form they had found.

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Who can measure the thoughts that sped through the mind of this rough youth as he kept his silent vigil by the wasting clay, once warm and active as himself, with life and being.

The reverence which takes possession of the roughest nature in the hallowed presence of the dead, shed its influence over him, and he became for the time a different being to the careless, happy-go-lucky mortal who so lately bestrode, in thoughtlessness and mirth, the animal he held by the bridle.

Thus it was that the lost daughter was found; thus that the anxious and sorrowing parents were made aware of the fate of their child, and their long suspense terminated in a certainty of the worst.