CHAPTER XIII
"WHEN ROGUES LIE AWAKE."
Up to this time the captain had been making holiday. He had been resting after his exertions for his country in the stone quarries at Portland, enjoying a little quiet repose amid the luxuries and beauties of the Park. But while he had been reposing he had not allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security.
He was fully aware that the position which he occupied at Penruddie was intangible and untenable.
He was, though John Mildmay's oldest and best-loved friend, only a visitor at the Park, and a guest of Mrs. Mildmay.
But the captain had determined from the first to change the position from that of a guest on sufferance to one of power and possession.
Captain Murpoint, as he leaned back in the carriage returning to the Park, watched from between his half-closed lids the thoughtful, pensive face of the girl who was usually so light-hearted, careless, and talkative.
"Is she in love with him?" he asked himself. "What a pity it is one cannot pick the secret chamber of a woman's heart as he picks a doorlock! I hope she may be; love is blind for all but the adored one, and Miss Violet's eyes will have no regard for me in my little game while they are fixed on the brave and stoical Leicester."
Poor Violet, it was not until some time afterward that she knew how cunning a spider was the considerate and well-bred Howard Murpoint.
Both the ladies were tired when they reached home, and ascended to their rooms, to which Captain Murpoint insisted upon carrying their silver candlesticks. Then, when he had heard the key turned in their respective chambers, he glided off to his own.
On the sofa sat Jem fast asleep, his head on his arm, and his thick, muscular hands – which still above the wrists bore the marks of the gang-chain – clinched at his side.
The captain looked down upon him, and then laid his white hand – which also, under the broad wristband, bore the telltale mark – upon Jem's shoulder.
Jem started up with an exclamation and an expression of fear so palpable that Captain Murpoint looked at him with some attention.
"Asleep, man," he said, rallying him in a soft, mocking voice. "You have been asleep for some weeks, my friend. It is time you, and I also, woke up. There is work to do."
"I'm glad of it," said Jem, with an oath and with a transient gleam of interest.
"Jem, you used to be able to climb. I have seen you cling to the cliffs like a bat, with your eyebrows. Have you lost that art?"
Jem shook his head.
"No," he said. "I'm pretty strong in this arm and I ain't lost my cheek, captain. They used to call me the monkey, and p'r'aps I deserved it."
"Then I think we'll test your power to-night," said the captain. "Can you get down to the stable?"
"Yes," said Jem, with a frown, "if it wasn't for the dog. He's a beast, and we hates each other like poison!"
"That's natural," smiled the captain. "Nevertheless you must get down, Jem. Reach me two or three pairs of those thick shooting stockings from that drawer."
Jem wonderingly obeyed.
"Now then, put two pair on over your shoes."
"Now creep down," said the captain, "and bring me a coil of rope from the large stable. I saw it there yesterday, hung above the corn bin. Here's a key. It fits it, for I tried it. There's a lantern, too, I shall want – a dark one. You'll find one in one of the stables, for I saw the groom trimming it."
Jem, whose spirits seemed to rise at the prospect of congenial employment, was about to start, but paused, and with a little hesitation said:
"But suppose I'm nabbed, captain? Rather awkward to be cotched in muffled boots shuffling round the stables."
The captain thought for a moment, then drew off a ring and handed it to him.
"If any one turns up go down on your hands and knees and say you are looking for my ring which I lost to-day. While they are looking on or helping, pick it up. That will avert all suspicion."
"'Pon my soul, it's wonderful; that's what it is!" said Jem, with ecstatic admiration of the captain's cleverness, and he departed.
After the lapse of half an hour the captain's quick ears caught the dull, muffled sound of the stockinged feet, and he sprang up as Jem entered with the coil of rope and the lantern.
"You alarmed no one?" said the captain.
"Not a soul," said Jem, with great triumph.
"Then you may keep the ring," said the captain, and he stopped Jem's thanks by adding:
"Now for the gymnastics. Next to this room," and he touched the wall with his white forefinger, "there is an empty room which has been closed, screwed up, for years. I want to find a way of getting into that room on the quiet. I want to creep in there one night and out of it like a ghost – Why, what in the name of Jupiter is the matter with you?" he broke off to exclaim, for Jem's face had got as white as the supernatural phenomenon he, the captain, wished to imitate, and his eyes were fixed with horror and disquietude. "What's the matter with you, you idiot?"
"Captain, I'd climb the cliff, or walk a hundred miles, or – or – anything you'd ask me, but I can't go near that room! I've seen – there, never mind what I have seen! I won't go near it, and that's flat!"
The captain rose and walked to his bureau, from the drawer of which he took a neat little revolver.
Then, as if Jem had offered no objection he continued, in a smooth voice:
"I want you, Jem, to drop from this window onto the ivy beneath and to climb up to the window of the empty room. I will hold the one end of the rope, the other you shall tie round your waist. When you get to the window – which has no shutters – you will throw the light from the lantern all round the room and ascertain in what direction the door lies, what furniture the room contains, and its condition. In fact you shall give me a complete description of it. Do you go?"
"No," said Jem, with an oath. "I know what I've seen, and don't go interfering where a human being shouldn't. I don't go, captain."
The captain took out his watch and chain and dropped them on the floor.
"Very good," he said, raising the revolver with calm but suppressed passion, "this is the only thing I have asked you to do in return for all I have done for you. You cur, I saved you from the chain-gang. I have fed you, clothed you, made a man of you, and like an overfed dog you turn, do you? Move a step" – for Jem, stung by the truth in the taunt, had with a scowl advanced a step – "move an inch and I'll shoot you without further parley! I'll shoot you as it is," he continued, taking accurate aim.
"If you dare to disobey me, I'll shoot you and summon the house to hear me tell you attacked me for my watch. The watch lies there, where it fell during our struggle; my ring, which you stole from my finger while I slept, is in your pocket; you are muffled like a burglar, and you have burglarious instruments in your hands. You see, Jem, you die, shot through the head, and everybody believes I shot you in self-defense."
Jem gradually grew white with mingled awe and fear.
He flung his hand down upon the table with an oath.
"I'll do it," he swore. "You're worse than a ghost, captain; you're worse than the very fiend himself. Sometimes I do believe you are him. I'll do it; I can't stand agin you, it's no use; ghost or no ghost I must cave in. Ring, watch, these 'ere stockings on – s'welp me, you planned it all!"
The captain smiled, but instead of retort uncoiled the rope, and by a gesture bade his tool fasten it round his waist. Then he oiled the window sashes so that the window might go up easily, lit the lantern, and after a long, breathless pause of listening motioned to Jem to let himself down.
With intense interest, which was perfectly hidden under a calm, almost indifferent bearing, the captain watched his accomplice, as Jem, with monkeyish agility, dropped onto the thick boles of the ivy and clung to the stems as they in turn clung to the old walls.
Then he saw him rise hand over hand toward the window.
He gained the broad window ledge and, summoning all his doglike courage, dashed the cold perspiration from his brow and turned the light of the lantern full into the empty haunted room.
There was, however, nothing supernatural or ghostly to be seen.
It was an ordinary sized room, smaller than most of the modern rooms in the Park, and furnished in the style of a study or library.
There was a large old-fashioned bureau, an iron safe, half a dozen heavy, leather-backed, oak chairs and some shelves loaded with books.
A waste-paper basket stood under the table, and on the blotting paper upon the desk were some papers, as if they had been left by some one who intended returning within half an hour.
Upon all, table, desk, chairs, bureau, safe, lay the dust scattered by the hand of time, half an inch thick.
Jem took in all the details and then turned to descend.
In another moment the captain held out his hand and helped him into the room.
Jem, at first sullenly, but presently with some interest, described the room.
The captain asked question after question, all the while drawing on a piece of paper. At last when he had got all the information which Jem could possibly give he held out the piece of paper.
"Is that like it?" he said, with a smile.
Jem stared.
"It's the very room!" he exclaimed, wonder struck. "The furniture ain't quite like, but every bit on it shows in the proper place, and, s'welp me, captain, you must be Old Nick!"
"Perhaps," said the captain, with a smile. "And now you may go to bed."
Jem, without further parley, slipped off the rope and the stockings, and, still in a maze of fear, cunning, and admiration, departed.
The captain lit another cigar, and sat smiling at his paper until the dawn crept up from the east.
"When rogues lie awake," says an old proverb, "let honest men beware!"
CHAPTER XIV
A SUMMER STORM
"Yes," said Leicester, staring at himself in his shaving-glass the morning after the dinner at Coombe Lodge. "That is the question. Do I love her? If not, why when I am awake do I think over every little trivial word she has spoken, recall every expression of her face that accompanied it; and also when I am asleep do I dream of her, see her face, with its deep, pure eyes, all through the night? If I asked Bertie he would say that I do love her, and yet to myself I distrust myself. I cannot bring myself to acknowledge that I, the selfish, egotistical Leicester, truly and madly love a girl, sweet faced, violet-eyed angel though she be. Madly I said; and madly it must be. It is not in me to do or feel anything by halves. I must be hot and eager in action, thought and emotion, notwithstanding my seeming frigidity. Now," and his handsome face frowned, candidly, "I hate Captain Howard Murpoint. It's wicked, I know it is, but I hate him in despite of my principles."
Just then came a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Leicester, thinking it was his valet; "you are a nice, active body servant, William. I'm half dressed, and – Hello! it's you, is it?" he broke off as Bertie entered the room.
"Yes; you've cut your face, old fellow."
"Thank you for nothing; my glass told me that," said Leicester. "I never could shave myself, and William hasn't condescended to get up. I couldn't lie in bed such a morning as this, and you couldn't either, evidently."
"No," said Bertie, eagerly. "I say, Les, what a day this would be for the yachting trip."
Leicester smiled.
"Wind's in the right quarter for a good blow," he said.
"I wonder now," said Bertie, hesitatingly, "if Mrs. Mildmay would like a – "
"You mean Lady Ethel," interrupted Leicester, with a smile.
Bertie's frank face flushed.
"Well, both of them," he said. "Suppose you ride over to the lodge and bring Fitz and her over here while I go down to the Park and ask Mrs. Mildmay and the captain, and of course Miss Violet."
"Suppose you ride over yourself," retorted Leicester.
Bertie shook his head with sad significance.
"That wouldn't do," he said. "Do you think Lady Lackland would trust Ethel – I mean Lady Boisdale to me, even though Fitz was with her? No! You go over and she won't say no; but if I go the sun will be too hot, or the trip too much, or something."
"Yes, have your own way, obstinate," said Leicester, and so after breakfast he mounted his hunter and rode over to Coombe Lodge.
When Bertie got over to the Park he found that the captain had gone out on urgent business.
Mrs. Mildmay, when asked if she would take the trip, looked over to Violet, who gave a quiet affirmative, and Bertie, trusting Leicester had been similarly lucky in his embassage, bore the ladies off to the beach.
Bertie hailed the captain's boat, and before it had rowed from the yacht to the shore Lord Fitz's dogcart came rattling down the rural parade.
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Violet, as Ethel sprang lightly down. "I was so afraid you would not come."
When the gentlemen had skillfully assisted the ladies on deck a chorus of delighted admiration rewarded them.
"How beautiful," said Violet. "Why, I thought a ship was always dirty and in disorder. But this is as clean and neat as a lady's workbox."
"Neater, I hope, or I shall have to discharge my sailing master," said Leicester, smiling.
Violet and Ethel went from one end of the little vessel to the other, delighted with the novelty.
"Heave hoy! Heave hoy!" and up came the anchor.
Then at a word from Leicester her white, graceful sails fluttered out to the winds, and the birdlike Petrel, with a graceful toss, as if in laughing delight at her freedom, went off before the summer breeze.
Fitz understood yachting as he did hunting, shooting, and all manly sports, and while Leicester gave the orders and sailed the vessel Fitz explained the different technical terms, taking a great deal of trouble to make the matter clear to Violet.
She was grateful to him, and interested, and as she was not in love with Mr. Leicester Dodson yet, her face was as bright to Fitz as to him, and when the owner of the yacht came with the rugs he found her quite occupied laughing with Fitz.
Bertie had secured Ethel, and at some little distance apart was talking as only he knew how to talk.
Leicester therefore had Mrs. Mildmay left to him, and, like a gallant gentleman, amused her.
He was not of a jealous disposition, and he was satisfied if Violet was happy; but after a little while he came up to Fitz's side.
"Miss Mildmay would like to see how the yacht is steered. Show her the wheel, Fitz."
"You do the honors," said Fitz, good naturedly. "You understand them best."
Mr. Leicester took her to the wheel and explained it.
"How I should like to steer!" she said. "I am ambitious; and ought to be encouraged."
"Yes," said Leicester, "it is a laudable ambition. Take hold of the wheel and I will show you."
The instruction being done more by the hand than the voice it followed that Leicester's strong, firm fingers came in contact with Violet's white, soft ones very frequently.
There arose suddenly upon the flash of the sea, the flap of the sails, and the murmur of the conversation, the musical notes of the ship's bell.
"Luncheon," said Leicester.
So they all "tumbled down," said Bertie, into the saloon, on entering which the ladies were again transfixed with astonishment.
The table glittered with cut glass, plate, flowers, and a luncheon fit for the Caliph of Bagdad himself.
Never had that little bower of luxury ever been filled with sweeter voices or lighter laughter.
It was all delightful, from the lobsters that would roll about as if they were alive to the champagne which popped about the cabin like mimic guns of distress, Violet declared; and Leicester, seated next her, was heard to laugh aloud at one of Bertie's jokes – a thing unknown hitherto.
"Now suppose," said Leicester to Lady Ethel, "we turned out to be pirates, and all this while were carrying you off to the Mediterranean."
As he spoke the sails flapped against the mast, and the vessel rolled suddenly.
He looked up at the sky through the window with a sharp glance.
"The wind is changing," he said, quietly. "We shall have a calm."
"A calm," said Lady Ethel to Bertie. "Then we shall not be able to get on."
"Yes," he said, with a secret thrill of exultation. "I am afraid not. Where are you going, Leicester?"
"On deck," said Leicester, and he sprang up the companionway.
Presently he returned.
"What news?" said Fitz.
"Doubtful," said Leicester, pouring out a glass of wine for Mrs. Mildmay. "A calm, I say – my sailing master says a – storm."
"A storm!" said Mrs. Mildmay, with dismay.
"Only a summer storm," said Leicester, lightly.
He quietly ran up on deck, and they heard his deep voice giving the command to tack round.
Then there followed a hurried trampling on deck and suddenly a voice called out:
"Tumble up! All hands on deck!"
Fitz ran up the gangway, and Bertie would have followed, but Mrs. Mildmay seemed rather alarmed, and he stayed talking and laughing to reassure her.
Presently Leicester came down and with a smile said:
"The rain is coming and some more wind. Mrs. Mildmay, you are in the pirates' clutches, so make yourself comfortable on the sofa."
She obeyed, for she was really frightened.
Violet sat beside her, and Bertie and Lady Ethel did their best to convince her that there was no danger.
Then Violet stole to the door of the cabin and looked longingly toward the dark sky.
As she looked Leicester, passing, saw her.
"Let me come up with you, please," she said.
"I couldn't think of it," he said.
But he called down to ask Mrs. Mildmay if she would permit it, and then handed Violet up.
All the sails were furled, yet the yacht drove along at tremendous pace before the gale.
Leicester's voice was scarcely deep enough to drown the wind, and the little vessel tossed like a nutshell as it forced its way along the breakers.
So anxious had Leicester grown that he seemed to have forgotten the ladies.
But he had not, for presently, after a colloquy with the skipper, he shrugged his shoulders and came up to Violet, who was standing, not in the least wet or frightened, by the forecastle.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing much," he said, with a smile. "I have resigned command, that's all. My skipper knows this coast better than I do, and I have left him to steer us right."
"Is there any danger of going wrong, then?" she asked.
"Well – " he hesitated.
At that moment the skipper shouted out something that sounded dreadfully sharp and stern in the wind, Leicester caught Violet's arm and drew her to him, glancing as he did so to Bertie and Fitz, who were both guarding Lady Ethel.
The yacht sprang forward under the press of sail which the skipper had ordered to be put on.
"Right now," said Leicester, cheerily. "We shall fly home to Penruddie; I can almost see the white cliffs. Ah!" he broke off, sharply, "port your helm! Breakers ahead! Great Heaven! we are on the north reef!"
He sprang to the helm, Violet paled with a sudden fear, cowered, and dropped to her knees.
The next instant she felt an arm round her, and a voice in her ear whispered, passionately:
"You are not frightened! We are safe!"
Then she felt herself lifted up and carried down the gangway.
She had not fainted – or had she, and were the words, "Oh, my darling, my Violet!" only creations of fancy?
CHAPTER XV
THE SERPENT'S STING
It is not to be supposed that Captain Howard Murpoint had deserted his post of observation at this critical time on a matter of no moment. The captain had commenced to play his game in earnest, and that he might be able to throw down one of his trump cards he had declared his intention of riding on the chestnut to the market town of Tenby.
Had he even been aware that Mr. Leicester would carry out his yachting intentions on that day it is probable that he would still have kept to his plan, for the captain was a firm believer in the proverb, "Delays are dangerous," and once assured that a step was necessary never hesitated about taking it.
Consequently after breakfast, he mounted the chestnut and rode off, waving his white, well-gloved hand to the ladies, and smiling with the serenity of a mind at ease and a heart innocent of guile.
When he had got beyond the village, the smile disappeared, and the chestnut felt the whip, in which the captain tied three good hard knots, across its sleek sides.
He was in a hurry, and he soon impressed it upon the horse, who tore into Tenby all on fire with surprise and anger at its novel treatment.
The captain stabled his steed, drank a glass of ale at the "Royal George", and then strolled through the town.
It was an old-fashioned place, but there were some good shops, among them an apparently well-stocked stationer's.
To this the captain directed his steps, and, sauntering in, purchased some paper and envelopes, also some ink and pens and pencils, and seemed inclined to purchase anything to which the shopman – an obliging fellow – called his attention.
"Have you any parchment? I am going to make a list of goods – curiosities, and such like – to send over seas, and I am afraid that paper might be destroyed," he explained.
"Oh, parchment is the thing, sair," said the man, and he took a roll of the same from a drawer.
"There is some, sir," said he, "but it is rather faded. The fact is we are not often asked for it, and this has been in the house for some time. If it is of any use to you I will charge you less than the usual price for it."
The captain turned it over indifferently, and separated the sheets with his finger.
"No," he said, "I think paper will do." Then he raised his eyes to a shelf behind the shopkeeper's head and said, suddenly: "Is that sealing wax up there? I think I'll have some."
The man reached a ladder and climbed up for it.
While his back was turned Captain Murpoint skillfully abstracted a sheet of parchment from the heap and slid it into his pocket, coughing the while to cover the sound of the crisp rustle, and flinging his umbrella down upon the remainder so as to account for the sound if his cough had not covered it.
The shopman descended quite unsuspiciously, however, and the captain, having added the sealing wax and some red tape to his purchases, took his leave, refusing all the obliging stationer's offers to send the parcel home, and carrying it in his hand.
From the High Street he then made a slight divergence to one of the smaller thoroughfares, and paused before a small general shop which displayed in its little window a sample of some of its varied stock.
He purchased several small articles and then inquired in the most natural manner for a flour dredger.
"I do not know what it is," he added, with a smile, as the good woman looked rather surprised; "but I have been commissioned to purchase one for a lady."
"Certainly, sir," said the woman; and she produced a flour dredger.
The captain examined it with a smile.
"I suppose it is all right," he said, and he had it packed up with his other purchases.
With a sigh of absolute relief, for, though the incident was seemingly trivial, he had effected a good deal in obtaining a sheet of parchment and a flour dredger without attracting attention, he returned to the "Royal George", and sat down to a nice light luncheon.
Then ordering his horse, he mounted again.
On his way home, a very little distance from his route, lay Coombe Lodge. The captain was a gallant gentleman, and he thought it would only be a delicate piece of attention if he called to inquire after Lady Lackland's health.
After earnest inquiries after her ladyship's headache the captain gave an amusing and highly colored account of his trip to Tenby, introducing and inventing half a dozen little serio-comic incidents, which, though they did not occur, highly amused the countess.
"I am sorry Ethel and Fitz are out," she said as the captain rose to go. "I suppose, however, you did not expect to find them at home?"
She smiled interrogatively.
"No," he said, "I was not aware – "
"Indeed!" said the countess. "Did you not know that they were going yachting with Mr. Leicester Dodson and Mrs. Mildmay?"
The captain certainly did not know it, and shrugged his shoulders with a smile.
"No, indeed," he said. "Ah, my dear Lady Lackland, these very young people are so impulsive! They arranged their little pleasure trip after I had started this morning, seeing that the weather was fine – though," he added, glancing at the window, "I think we may have a storm."
Lady Lackland looked at him thoughtfully.
She thought him a man worth conciliation, and perhaps of confidence.
"Mrs. Mildmay has gone," she said. "Mr. Dodson rode over this morning and fetched Fitz and Ethel."
"Oh!" said the captain, significantly. "Very impulsive young man, my dear lady; very excellent, clever young man, but impulsive. He has been badly brought up, in a selfish circle, and I am afraid has acquired a considerable amount of willfulness, and – shall I add, fickleness?"
"What do you mean?" asked Lady Lackland, with soft abruptness. "Do you think Mr. Leicester is obstinate and a flirt?"
"The very word, my dear lady," said the captain, softly, as he sank into the seat beside her. "I am very interested in Mr. Leicester," he continued, swinging his hat gently and looking up into the countess' face under his deeply penciled eyebrows. "Very. I could tell you why – perhaps you can guess. To be candid, my dear Lady Lackland, as I told you the other evening, I am poor John Mildmay's oldest friend. I was to have been his daughter's legal guardian; and though his sudden death prevented him bequeathing her welfare to my care I still feel for her the affection and anxiety of a father. Ah, how can I do otherwise when by her every look and gesture, by her every smile and tone she reminds me of my dear lost friend?"
Lady Lackland, whose eyes had been averted, sought his face with a mild but astute look of inquiry.
"One cannot suppose for one minute," continued the captain, "that a man of the world like Leicester Dodson can entertain any serious intention of making a proposal to Violet. No, my dear lady; men of his class strike at higher game." He paused, and did not fail to notice the sudden drooping of the wily countess' eyelids. "They, or their fathers, have made money by trade, and with that money they desire – nay, they look to purchase rank. It is their ambition. They have it instilled into them with the food of their infancy; they look forward to it as the final goal of their endeavors. Yes, Leicester Dodson intends to marry rank, and," he continued, in a lower voice and with a subtle significance, "and will do so if some foolish flirtation does not act as a stumbling-block."
The countess raised her face languidly.
She understood the captain, and she began to see that he was on her side.
He meant by his delicate confidence to warn her that if the flirtation between Leicester Dodson, the millionaire's son, and Violet Mildmay, the merchant's daughter, were not stopped, the countess would lose the aforesaid Leicester and his money bags for her daughter, Lady Ethel.
The captain continued:
"I may describe the position of Violet as very similar, yet with a difference. She, my dear lady, though I, so biased and partial, should not give it utterance perhaps, is a most charming and lovable girl; but she is simple – simple in the extreme, unsophisticated. She would be the first to be led away and deceived into thinking a foolish flirtation, a midsummer day's flirtation, a serious love affair and a binding engagement. Now I am sure that must not be. No, she is reserved and intended for a different and may I say a happier and more suitable fate? By the way, did you say that Mr. Leicester Dodson came over himself this morning?"
"Yes," said the countess.
The captain smoothed his hat.
"I hope you will not think the less of him for what I have said, my dear lady."
"Oh, no!" said Lady Lackland, "not in any way. Besides, you have not said much," she added, "only that he is somewhat of a flirt."
"And that you have noticed yourself?" said the captain, with ill-concealed eagerness – "you who have so many better opportunities of observing him in the society which you so much adorn."
"Yes," said Lady Lackland, "I think perhaps that he is a flirt. He would be a very eligible young man if he were a little more steadfast; but one cannot put old heads on young shoulders, Captain Murpoint."
"No, no," said the captain. And with a delicate emphasis he shook hands and took his leave, repeating to himself Lady Lackland's reply as he went. It was not a very important one; but we shall see how by deftly twisting and turning it Captain Murpoint effected a great deal with it.
As the captain rode home the storm gathered and broke upon him.
The wind nearly blew him from his horse and the rain saturated him.
At the Park he found the servants in a state of confusion and alarm, and learned that the ladies had not yet come home.
Without dismounting he galloped down the steep hill to the beach, which presented a picturesque scene enough, but a sufficiently significant one.
Just within reach of the spray stood a small crowd composed of the fishermen and their wives and children and the principal part of the village.
Lower down, and seemingly in the foremost waves themselves, were Willie Sanderson and two or three of his mates, vainly endeavoring to launch one of the boats.
By their side, in close and agitated conversation with Mr. Starling, was Jemmie, Sanderson's lame brother.
The captain spurred his horse across the stones and shouted, loud enough to be heard above the roar of the waves:
"Has the yacht come in?"
Willie Sanderson shook his head, and significantly pointed seaward.
Jem Starling came up and touched his hat and, bellowing hoarsely in the captain's ear, said:
"No, she ain't come in, sir, and these chaps be all in a regular state about her. They say – "
But the captain was too anxious as to the situation to receive anything second-hand, and beckoned imperiously to Willie Sanderson, who came up to him.
"Do you think there is any danger?" asked the captain, in a voice slightly tremulous.