Gilbert of course understood him to refer to Mr. Daniel Meggison and Bessie; he answered curtly enough. "They are not to be disturbed; they go with me," he said.
"Very good, sir," said Pringle, in the hushed tones of one labouring under deep amazement. "Very good indeed, sir." Then he vanished.
There were, of course, excellent reasons why the various members of that extraordinary company should keep out of each other's way. Mr. Jordan Tant, in particular, conjured up in a vivid imagination the wrath of Gilbert Byfield at discovering that Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter were on board. The Stockers were too much overawed by their surroundings, and too much afraid of the result of that impulsive action taken by Mrs. Julia Stocker, to do anything but remain in the cabin that had been allotted to them, a little frightened at what they had done. Aubrey intended to wait for that moment whenhe could throw himself, as he had done so often, on the protection of his sister; and Simon Quarle was fiercely determined to wait until daylight, and then confront Byfield on his own deck, and have the matter out with him.
So far as Pringle was concerned, he dared not, of course, again approach his master; and gradually, as sleep settled down comfortably on the various passengers, the fog lifted, and the fair moon shone forth, and the crew set about preparations for departure. Presently the engines started, and theBlue Birdglided out of Newhaven Harbour into the English Channel, and turned westward. Unexpected journeys are always tiring; and all those with whom we are concerned had made unexpected journeys that day. They slept soundly, lulled to slumber by the throbbing of the engines, and the sound of the waves through which they churned their way.
Almost the first of the company to wake in the morning and to come on deck was Bessie. TheBlue Birdwas plunging and tearing through a choppy sea, but the new sensation was delightful; she had never experienced anything like it before. New ideas, and new hopes and desires, seemed to be buffeted into her by the boisterous wind; above all, it was good to feel that she was really afloat with Gilbert on this great sea, and to know also that her father was safely on board with her. She encountered Gilbert; and for a moment or two they held hands shyly, the man forgetting readily enough all that had happened.
"Good morning," she said, ducking her head to avoid the wind, and laughing.
"Good morning, Bessie mine," he responded. "You look as fresh as a rose."
"You were not hurt with me for bringing poor father with me yesterday—were you?" she asked. "You see, I couldn't very well come alone—and poor father loves the sea; in fact he says that he has an adventurous spirit that has been kept severely in check. You didn't mind, did you?"
"I don't mind anything this morning," he assured her. "All the little cares and troubles and worries seem to have been left behind in the narrow life that I have lived; this morning I breathe a freer, better air, and you are with me; what more could any man desire? Come to breakfast, my dear; I'm hungry, if you're not."
In the midst of breakfast Mr. Daniel Meggison appeared, very much dishevelled, and with a wild and curious stare in his eyes not to be accounted for by the mere strangeness of his surroundings. During the progress of the meal he more than once broke out into a chuckle of laughter; and then checked himself, and became amazingly solemn. In the very act of cracking an egg he stopped, like one haunted, listening; chuckled again, and then became solemn again; and made a most surprising remark to Gilbert.
"Byfield—do you know what I did? It wasn't drink, because your man only brought me one in the course of a long and thirsty evening—and it wasn't dreams, because I slept soundly. But I"—he glanced over his shoulder, and his face became strangely convulsed again—"I opened the wrong cabin door!"
"Well—what of that?" asked Gilbert.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," said Daniel; and again became remarkably solemn.
As a matter of fact Daniel Meggison, staggering along a corridor in the ship that morning, had opened a cabin door, and had seen that which caused his hair to rise and his flesh to creep. The vision before him, in the mere fragment of time before he closed the door again, was that of Mrs. Julia Stocker, leaning half-way out of a bunk and groaning; while Mr. Stocker held on to another bunk with one hand, and endeavoured to dress himself with the aid of the other, the while he groaned in concert. Daniel Meggison had been so alarmed that he had closed the door hurriedly, and had come away, certain in his own mind that he had been deceived, and that this was but a mere uneasy vision.
After breakfast, however, he went down again and proceeded to explore. Discovering again that cabin, the door of which he had opened, he once more peered in, and once more saw the figures of the Stockers; retreated hurriedly, and began to have a dim idea of what had happened. He opened another door, and came upon Simon Quarle, also desperately ill, and too far gone to take any notice of him; slammed that door, and stood in the rocking, heaving vessel, striving to understand what had happened. He was on the point of further investigation, when Pringle came delicately and skilfully towards him, balancing a small tray on which was a glass.
"Morning, sir," said Pringle cheerfully. "A bit fresh—isn't it, sir?"
"Too fresh for me," said Daniel Meggison, clutchingat the man. "Here, I say, my fine fellow—a word with you. Who came on board last night?"
Pringle, balancing the tray and watching the glass upon it, answered deliberately. "Mr. Byfield first, sir—and you and the young lady. That's three. Then a large lady and a small gent—married—names unknown——"
"Stocker. I've seen them," said Daniel. "Was that all?"
"Oh, by no means, sir," said Pringle cheerfully. "Two other ladies, and a small gentleman very much out of breath; another gentleman, tall and thin, that asked most particular about you and the lady, and said you wasn't to be disturbed; smoking a cigarette, that gentleman was, sir."
"Aubrey—my disgraceful son—for a thousand pounds!" said Daniel. "Clever boy, Aubrey; knows his way about."
"And last, sir, just as I thought we had shipped the lot of 'em, in a manner of speaking, another gentleman, with a very loud voice and what I might call a way of snapping at a man. Square shoulders—clean shaven."
"Simon Quarle!" exclaimed Daniel Meggison. "We've got the whole menagerie!"
"Exactly, sir. Just what occurred to me, sir. You'll excuse me, sir, I know; lady very ill along 'ere—the married one."
Daniel Meggison struggled on deck, and tried to think. By what extraordinary process of events they had all contrived to follow he did not know; still less did he understand who the two strange ladies and the gentleman out of breath might be. He felt, however,that he would wait a little before imparting his knowledge to anyone else; some old spirit of deviltry that had long lain dormant in him whispered to him to be silent, and to await developments.
But for the fact that Pringle was such a very discreet servant the discovery must have been made long before it actually was. But Pringle was that admirable type of servant that told himself he had certain duties to perform, and was well paid for performing them, and that nothing else mattered. Consequently during the next two days he waited upon these new passengers, prostrate in their cabins, with the most assiduous care, and said nothing to anyone. Daniel Meggison stumbled about the ship, hourly expecting the explosion that must follow the discovery of the full passenger list; Bessie was blissfully unconscious of everything, except that she was on the wide sea, with the man she loved for company.
Gradually, however, the weather changed; and gradually one by one the white-faced passengers crept out of their cabins. Pringle, feeling quite certain in his own mind that his master would welcome their advent in restored health, bustled about to get out deck chairs, and generally to make his patients comfortable. It was destined to be a morning of surprises for everyone; but Pringle did not know that, and he was as cheerful as ever as he gradually persuaded one and another to go up on deck.
It happened that Gilbert was standing alone when he heard a movement behind him, and turning, saw the first of the invalids being helped up the companion by Pringle, who made use of little encouraging remarks on the way. The patient was Mrs. Stocker,who clung to Pringle as she might have clung to her best friend.
"That's it, ma'am—you won't know yourself when you're on deck, and get the breeze. Other foot, ma'am; that's right—now here we are, and here's Mr. Byfield absolutely waitin' for us. If you would be so kind, sir"—this to the amazed Gilbert—"if you would be so kind, sir, as to take the lady's other arm, I could get her to the chair there in a mere matter of winking. That's it, ma'am; take your time from us—asking the master's pardon."
"What—in the name of all that's marvellous——" Gilbert was staring at the woman who clutched him, and was quite mechanically stepping along the deck in the direction indicated.
"I can explain everything," said Mrs. Stocker. "I came on account of my niece; I have suffered severely for my devotion. I am suffering now."
"The gentleman, sir, said he'd find his way up alone," said Pringle. "It's taken it out of the gentleman a lot, sir; much more frail than the lady, sir. Talkin' of angels!—here he is, sir."
"Beautiful vessel, sir," murmured poor Edward Stocker, getting discreetly a little behind Pringle. "Most sorry to have been ill on the premises, as I might say, sir; it doesn't seem exactly grateful for privileges—does it, sir?"
Gilbert walked past him, and accosted Pringle, who now for the first time began to look doubtful. "How did these people come on board, Pringle?" he asked.
"Well, sir," said the man—"they—they just came. Asked for you, sir, and seemed as if they knew they were expected, and—and here they are, sir.Every one who came on board seemed to know you, and seemed to think they'd be expected, sir."
"Every one? How many more?"
"Five more, sir—only five. Two ladies, and a gentleman with them—and two separate gents that tumbled in without appearing to know each other, sir."
"But why did you let them stop—and who the deuce are they?" demanded Gilbert angrily.
"If you please, sir, you'll remember I asked you if any more was expected, and the remark you made, sir, was (askin' your pardon, of course, sir)—'The Lord only knows!' In fact, you seemed to think, sir, that all sorts of people might be droppin' in. Consequently, sir, when they did arrive I made 'em as comfortable as I could, and I've waited on 'em simply 'and and foot ever since. Very ill they've been indeed, sir."
From that moment the passengers may be said to have emerged gradually and with caution. Mr. Tant came on deck with something of a scared look, and seemed appalled to find himself on the open sea; seized by Gilbert, he blurted out something of what had happened.
"It's no use bullying me," he said, in an aggrieved fashion. "I didn't bring them; they brought me. Thank your stars that you've got a man on board in case of emergencies. Enid and her mother were both frantically anxious about you, and simply insisted on coming straight away to the yacht; though why on earth you wanted to bring 'em away to sea beats me."
"I didn't even know they were on board," exclaimedGilbert furiously. "It's simply monstrous that I should be followed about in this fashion. I understand there are five of you, besides those I've already discovered; who are the other two?"
"How should I know?" retorted Tant crossly. "You've taken an interest in so many people, and have adopted families wholesale, that you ought to know better than I do. Where's that man of yours? I'm ravenously hungry for the first time in three days. This is a beastly vessel for pitching."
As he went away sounds of a struggle and of heated voices floated to Gilbert from below; and a moment or two later Simon Quarle struggled on deck, grasping by the collar Aubrey Meggison, whom he was dragging in triumph with him. Aubrey was protesting feebly, and endeavouring under trying circumstances to sustain his dignity.
"Come out—stowaway!" exclaimed Simon excitedly. "Another hanger-on—another creature sneaking behind a woman's skirts, and shirking the honest work he ought to do. Come on deck and show yourself!"
"So you are the other two—are you?" asked Gilbert. "May I ask what brings you here, Mr. Quarle?"
"You may—and you shall be answered," said Simon Quarle sturdily. "I come to have an explanation with you—and I come also to set a few matters straight. I didn't expect to be carried away to sea like this——"
"You're not the only one," said Gilbert, with a smile. "All your followers are here—all the people with whom you have associated yourself. There'squite a ship's load of them—of all sorts and sizes and qualities!"
Even in such an amazing business as this a crisis had to be reached; all the many threads had to be gathered together. That crisis was reached when Bessie presently came along the deck, accompanied by her father; when she stared with amazement at Mrs. Julia Stocker and Mr. Stocker, reposing in deck chairs; when she encountered her brother, disposed to be affectionate from sheer terror of what might happen to him; and when she was finally received into the arms of Simon Quarle with a friendly hug.
"Don't you be afraid, Bessie," said Quarle. "I came on board on purpose to look after you; no one shall do you any harm. You've got one friend in the world, at least."
"I seem to have a great many friends," said Bessie, looking round at them. "Father, dear—you and Mr. Byfield have been arranging a surprise for me; you've brought all our friends together, even here. Here's dear Aubrey—and Aunt Julia and Uncle Ted, and——"
"So this is the girl—is it?" It was an unfriendly voice, and it proceeded from Mrs. Ewart-Crane, who had that moment climbed to the deck accompanied by her daughter. From an unfinished breakfast Jordan Tant had also appeared; so that they were all gathered about her on that deck, with the friendly arms of Simon Quarle round her; her troubled eyes were turned upon Gilbert.
"I did not expect to see you here," said Gilbert slowly to Mrs. Ewart-Crane. "Perhaps now you'll explain what it is you want?"
"We've been carried to sea quite against our will, and in deplorable weather," said Enid. "May I ask if this is the young lady who is the cause of all this trouble and disturbance?" she asked, looking at Bessie.
"Don't you mind, my dear; I'm close to you," growled Simon Quarle.
"This is Miss Bessie Meggison," said Gilbert.
"Gilbert and I are very glad to see you," said Bessie, still watching Byfield, but speaking bravely. "Gilbert has been good enough to take us all away on his beautiful yacht; I didn't know there was going to be such a large party. Why do you all look at me so strangely—why won't someone speak to me?"
"Don't take any notice of 'em; keep a brave heart, child," growled Simon Quarle in the same fashion as before.
"I certainly think it's time, Byfield, that some proper explanation was made," said Tant, adjusting himself with difficulty to the rolling of the vessel. "It's a mad business from beginning to end; but it seems to me Miss Meggison is the only one that doesn't understand it."
"She understands all that is necessary," broke in Daniel Meggison fiercely. "She trusts her poor old father, and she knows where her best friends are. Come, now—what if we all go to breakfast? or at all events get some refreshment of some sort? Splendid notion!"
"Mr. Byfield has asked us to sail with him on his yacht," said Bessie steadily. "What explanation is needed? My father and I would never have come away from England like this, but that my father hada fortune, and was able suddenly to make up for many years of hardship and misery. I would have liked to stay at Fiddler's Green for ever."
"You don't seem to understand that the house at Fiddler's Green belonged to Mr. Byfield," broke in the cold voice of Mrs. Ewart-Crane.
"Borrowed by me under a special arrangement," persisted Daniel Meggison. "Why don't we all go to breakfast?"
"Lent to your father by Mr. Byfield, because for some absurd reason he thought it might be well for you, who had lived all your life in a poverty-stricken district of London, to have a taste of the country," said Enid. "Will the girl never understand?"
"Bear it bravely; keep a stiff upper lip before 'em all!" urged Simon Quarle, in a growling undertone. "We'll get you out of this muddle with clean hands yet."
"Mr. Byfield—won't you tell me what it all means?" asked Bessie.
"I never meant that you should know the truth," said Gilbert. "I played a game of make-believe, just as you had done; your father's fortune was make-believe too. God knows you've been welcome to anything I've been able to do for you; we'd have been happy enough but for all the meddlers and muddiers who have been about us. Now you know the truth."
"There was never any fortune—never any money, except what you gave us?" she said slowly, looking at Byfield. "All the rest is lies—and pretence——"
"Only make-believe, Bessie," said Gilbert gently.
"There's no more make-believe for me!" she exclaimed, with a sudden new fierceness. "I'm not achild any more." Then suddenly breaking down, she looked at them appealingly, with eyes swimming with tears. "Won't you turn your faces from me?" she pleaded. "Don't you see that I am shamed and mean and horrible? For pity's sake turn your faces away from me!"
She turned her own then, and hid it on the friendly breast of Simon Quarle.
woman weeping with crowd of peopel looking on"SHE TURNED HER OWN FACE THEN, AND HID IT ON THE FRIENDLY BREAST OF SIMON QUARLE."Page 212
"SHE TURNED HER OWN FACE THEN, AND HID IT ON THE FRIENDLY BREAST OF SIMON QUARLE."Page 212
IN that sudden strange finding of the truth there was no degradation for the girl; the degradation was for those who had deceived her. Even Mrs. Ewart-Crane—hard woman of the world that she was—seemed to understand that, and however contemptuous she might be for the amazing innocence of Bessie, she yet seemed to know it for innocence, nevertheless. With a shrug of the shoulders she was the first to make a move to leave the girl and Gilbert together for that explanation that seemed to be demanded; the others followed suit, a little sheepishly—Daniel Meggison and Quarle the last to go.
"For my part," said Daniel, looking round, and speaking with an air of great frankness, "I cannot for the life of me see what all the fuss is about. If a good fellow likes to perform a generous action—what's to prevent him? I hate all this over-squeamishness."
"The lessyousay the better for everyone," said Simon Quarle, elbowing him out of the way. "You and your precious son are responsible for all this trouble; and I've been a weak-kneed idiot not to have put a stop to your games long ago."
"You can leave the precious son out of it, mister,"said Aubrey, looking back over his shoulder. "Whatever I've done doesn't concern anybody else; and what father's done has been on account of the family. You never having had a family ain't likely to understand what such a man's feelings may be."
Simon Quarle would have turned back at the last; but he saw that the girl was standing straight and quiet, with her hands clasped before her, staring out at the sea, and evidently waiting until she could speak to Gilbert Byfield alone. Gilbert, for his part, watched the girl furtively, wondering a little what she would say or what she would do.
"Bessie," he said at last gently—"have you nothing to say to me?"
She did not look at him; she strove hard to keep her voice steady. "How long will it take us to get back?" she asked.
"To get back?" He looked at her quickly.
"To England. Don't you see for yourself how utterly helpless I am?" she demanded passionately, with a note in her voice he had not heard before. "I am a prisoner here; I cannot stir hand or foot to get away from you. Put me on shore—anywhere—and I will walk, if necessary, to get back to London."
"This is rank madness!" he exclaimed. "For Heaven's sake, Bessie, be reasonable, and let us face the situation fairly and squarely. What harm have I done you?"
"What harm?" She faced him suddenly, with her hands clenched, and with eyes that yet had the tears in them blazing at him. "What harm? Don't you understand—or won't you understand—that in all my life no one has ever been able to say that I didn'tfight my own way—for myself and others; no one has been able to say that even in my poor fashion I didn't hold up my head—proud to think that I had never looked to anyone for a shilling. And you—you of all men on earth—have been"—she turned away her head, with the swift colour mounting in her face—"you have kept me!"
"Bessie!"
"It's true!" she flashed at him. "You've lied to me in everything—fed me with smooth words, just as you've fed me and the others with food you paid for. The clothes I wear have been bought with your money—and I would rather stand naked before you than have to say it."
"I tell you you don't understand," he pleaded. "It was done for your sake—and for your sake only. I was rich—and I saw a chance to help you, a mere child, and to bring some light and joy into your life. It was nothing to me; and you had longed, naturally enough, for things far beyond your reach. I tell you I was glad to do it."
"I understand perfectly," she said, standing close to him, and looking at him fearlessly. "I was a toy—something that amused you—a child you were sorry for. You didn't see that behind the child was the woman, who could be shamed and outraged and hurt; you never thought of that. It pleased you to spend money—because money was nothing to you, and was the easiest thing you had to part with. And then, to crown it all—the bitterest blow of all—you lied to me, and told me that you loved me."
"Stop!" he cried hastily. "You're wrong there; I swear it. I did love you—and I do love you; youare more wonderful to me than any woman I have ever met. I've been a brute and a fool, and I haven't understood; but I understand now, and I love you a thousand times more than I ever did before. I've blundered on, not troubling about you, or what became of you; content only to let each day go on—happy in keeping you in ignorance. There are no words bad enough to paint what I've done; but what I said to you was true then when I said it, and is more than ever true now."
She laughed, and flung up her head with a little quick gesture. "I don't believe it," she said—"but even if it's true it happens that at least I can spare myself something—can keep some little shred of self-respect to cover me. I hate you; when I said that I loved you it was wrong, and it wasn't true. I never want to see you again; I never want to have anything to do with you again. Some day, when I've fought and striven a little, I'll be able to pay you back what I've had from you; I shall work for that through all the years that are coming to me—I shall think only of that. That's my last word, Mr. Byfield. Now, if you have any feeling left at all, you will go away, and will let me alone until you can put me on shore. I don't want to stay here longer than I can help," she added, her voice breaking a little—"because there are so many people on this yacht who know all about it, and must be laughing at me."
He saw the utter hopelessness of arguing the matter with her; he turned away. At the same time there was, naturally enough, in his mind a bitter feeling of resentment that the matter should have ended in this way; for after all it must be remembered that, evenwith that mad impulse which had started the business, the mad impulse had been a good one, and had only been thwarted by others. The man had done his best, however mistakenly, and he bitterly resented the very natural attitude the girl took up. He was chafing with futile rage at the position in which he found himself, and in which he had placed her, when her voice recalled him.
"Mr. Byfield—you have not told me how soon we can go back," she reminded him coldly. "Surely you understand that I have done with all this"—she gave a comprehensive sweep of her hands to indicate the yacht and all about it—"and that I want to get back to some such sort of Arcadia Street as that in which you found me."
He came slowly back to her; he looked at her steadily. "I'm not going back," he said. "You don't understand that, whatever I may have done, and however mistaken I may be, you're treating me very unfairly. I'll change nothing to which I've set my hand; I'll go back in my own good time. These other people came on board for their own purposes; I'll not be at the beck and call of anyone now that those purposes are finished. I've done everything for the best, and whether I have failed or not doesn't affect the matter. More than that, although you won't listen to me I love you, and I don't mean to give you up. It's you and I, Bessie, against the world, and against all these other people; you shan't go back to any Arcadia Street if I can help it."
"I'll find my own way back," she exclaimed passionately. "I have nothing further to do with you; youdon't touch my life at all. You must take me back to England."
"I will not," he replied obstinately; and with those final words left her.
Strange as it may appear, for two whole days the situation remained unchanged. Gilbert held practically no communication with anyone on board, save with Bessie, to whom occasionally he sent a note by the discreet hands of Pringle. But though she read the notes, and though over the first of them at least she wavered a little, she never sent any reply, and the notes themselves, in fragments, were tossed overboard. But on the evening of the second day after that disclosure of the truth, Mr. Tant literally forced his way into the presence of Gilbert, and demanded to know what was going to happen.
"My dear Gilbert," he exclaimed—"I can really stand it no longer. Mrs. Ewart-Crane, fortunately for all of us (though Heaven forgive me for saying so) has been extremely ill again, or she would in all probability have demanded to see you; Enid, I regret to say, has merely become sulky. Don't think that I blame her for a moment; in her position anyone might be excused for doing the same. The other people do not concern me, and so I have not troubled about them; but I would merely observe that the elder Meggison appears to be making a frantic attempt to drink himself to death, thanks to the services of the obliging Pringle. Something's got to be done—and quickly."
"There is one person in command of this vessel, and of the situation," replied Gilbert. "That person is Miss Meggison; and when she deigns to look at thematter from the proper standpoint, and practically to take no notice of any of those persons who have forced their way on to the yacht, we shall know what we are going to do. I am perfectly comfortable, and unless Miss Meggison moves in the matter the situation must solve itself."
So Mr. Jordan Tant, shaking his head desolately, went off to find Bessie. As a matter of fact he was a little afraid of her, because of the extraordinary position that a girl of her origin had taken up; it was clearly against anything he had ever understood concerning people of her class. He approached her in the politest fashion, and pleaded with her to do something in the matter.
"I have been speaking to our friend Byfield, Miss Meggison," said Mr. Tant—"and I may be said to be a sort of reluctant ambassador. Personally I do not like the sea; there is not that stability about it that I require for my actual comfort; if you come to that, I think none of us here really like the sea; we should all like to go back safely to dry land. Now—what do you say?"
"I have already told Mr. Byfield that I want to go back to England," said Bessie.
"Excellent! I am sure that our friend Byfield does not really understand the situation. Perhaps you have not explained the matter clearly."
"I have explained it very clearly—but Mr. Byfield absolutely refuses to go back," said Bessie. "The matter is not in my hands, as you appear to think; I am a prisoner here just the same as you are. Here is my father; perhaps you had better speak to him about it."
"Personally I don't see that there's anything to discuss," said Daniel Meggison, airily stepping into the conversation. "Our good friend Byfield—owner of this charming yacht—prefers as an idle man to take a cruise on summer seas. I, as another idle man, am delighted to accompany him—and my daughter is included in the party. I confess there are certain people on board who have forced themselves, as it were, into the original scheme of things; but the vessel is a large one, and we may safely ignore them. Personally, I'm very comfortable, and I decline to question the motives of my friend Byfield in any way. Excellent fellow, Byfield—lavish with his money."
"You hear what my father says," said Bessie, with a little note of contempt in her voice. "Surely you can want nothing else. I don't count at all, you see; all the other people have to be reckoned with first."
Mr. Tant went away, but did not return to Gilbert. Instead he spent some hours in going about between Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid and Simon Quarle—putting questions to them, with his head very much on one side, and speaking always in a plaintive tone. Those questions resolved themselves simply into—What ought a fellow to do under certain exasperating circumstances?—Wouldn't it be better to appoint a committee, or something of that kind, to take charge of things? Failing to get any satisfaction from any quarter, Mr. Tant took his sorrows to the cheerful Pringle, who seemed to suggest that there was nothing very much to worry about.
"Bless you, sir—so long as you're in comfortable quarters I don't think it matters much, sir, whether you're afloat or whether you're ashore. You've gotto pass the time somehow, and you may as well make the best of things as they happen along, sir. Nice vessel, sir—an' company nice and varied; some of 'em swears at you, an' some of 'em complains about things—an' nobody seems just at the moment to be absolutely wild with joy. But Lor', sir, anything might happen to cheer everybody up at a moment's notice. Anything I can do for you, sir?"
Mr. Tant went away, feeling more miserable than ever. Coming on deck, he found that it was growing dark, and that a soft uncomfortable rain was falling; the wind had dropped to nothing. He wondered despondently where they were, or for what port they were bound; he had not troubled to ask about such matters as that at all. Finally he went below, and curled himself up in a corner of the saloon, and went to sleep.
He was awakened from that sleep by a sudden violent shock that flung him full upon his face upon the carpet. He scrambled up, hearing above him a great noise of running feet, and the shouts of men, and once the agitated scream of a woman. He got the door of the saloon open, and went off along a corridor that seemed to slope in an unaccountable fashion in search of Mrs. Ewart-Crane's cabin. He met Enid at the door of it.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "Everything in the cabin seems to be upside down."
"I don't know," responded Mr. Tant, with his teeth chattering—"but I should say that we'd bumped into something."
Mr. Tant left her, and went along that corridor that sloped unpleasantly on his way to the deck. Atthe foot of the companion he collided with Pringle, who apologized, and beamed upon him as cheerfully as ever.
"Shouldn't be a bit surprised, sir, if we wasn't all goin' to the bottom," said Pringle, with a grin. "This way, sir; take my arm, sir."
They scrambled on deck in a pitchy darkness of fog and a blur of rain, to see dim figures moving swiftly about the deck, and to hear a voice above them crying orders. The deck sloped as much as the corridor had done, and at quite as unpleasant an angle; somewhere near at hand they heard Gilbert's voice speaking sharply to the captain.
"It means taking to the boats, sir," shouted the voice above. "Plenty of time, if things are done quietly; the men are all standing by. Better get your friends on deck, sir."
That suggestion was more easily made than carried out. Mrs. Stocker, for instance, was in a great state of hysteria, and was clinging to little Mr. Stocker, something to his suffocation. She insisted upon being taken on deck, and at the same time vigorously resisted every effort to get her there. Mr. Daniel Meggison wept, and wrung his hands, and bawled for life-belts; Aubrey, with all the bravado gone out of him, stood still, and plucked at his lips, and stared into the blackness of the night, terror-stricken. Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter clung together; but Enid, to do her justice, was quite composed, and spoke sharply once to Mr. Tant when that gentleman demanded to know if anybody was ever going to do anything.
Simon Quarle found the hand he wanted in thedarkness, and gripped it. "Well, Bessie—are you afraid?" he whispered.
"No—not afraid," she said steadily. "If only father would be quiet; we can't do any good by shouting."
"Life-belts!" bellowed Daniel Meggison. "Oh—my God!—are there no life-belts on this rotten old hulk? Life-belts!"
The yacht was settling down slowly but steadily; there was nothing for it but to take to the boats. Some provisions were put in—the men hurrying hither and thither, answering cheerfully to the orders given them, and standing in their places without disorder. The only confusion was among the passengers; when their boat was at last ready, Daniel and his son scuffled together feebly for a moment or two, even with blows, in an attempt to get into the boat first.
Now, just how it happened that in the confusion that boat went off with the passengers only in it—the Stockers and the Ewart-Cranes, the Meggisons and Quarle, and Tant and Gilbert—will never be known. At the last moment Gilbert called out to know if Pringle was there; and the cheery voice of the man answered him; and Pringle, following the voice, stepped into his place.
"Nice smooth sea, sir," said Pringle, as he took an oar.
The other boats were being manned; to the last, as they pulled away, they heard the steady voice of the captain calling orders. Gilbert and Pringle and Simon Quarle pulled steadily; the women were huddled in the stern, and one of them at least was whimpering.Gradually the night seemed to close in above them and about them; gradually it seemed that they were left more and more alone on the gently heaving sea. At last—minutes after, as it seemed—there was a sound of rending and tearing upon rocks—and then a splash of waters; then all was still.
"She's gone," said Gilbert, drawing a long breath.
They pulled slowly, waiting for the dawn; no one seemed inclined to speak. Daniel Meggison slumbered a little, murmuring in his sleep; Mrs. Julia Stocker also appeared to sleep, pillowing her head upon Mr. Stocker, who seemed to strive to make her as comfortable as he could. She murmured more than once of Clapham.
Gilbert strove to pierce the darkness to catch a glimpse of Bessie. He thought he knew where she sat—upright and slim and steady; he wondered of what she was thinking, out there in the darkness—remembered with a pang how far she was from that quiet Arcadia Street in which he had found her. Then gradually, from sheer exhaustion, he nodded a little himself, even while he kept his oar moving rhythmically. And the dawn grew at last in the sky, and shed its grey light upon them—that strange little company in an open boat upon the sea.
That little company woke gradually to the full meaning of their situation. Mrs. Stocker, shuddering, was absolutely certain that she "looked a fright"; Mr. Edward Stocker passed a sort of damp compliment to her concerning her appearance. Mrs. Ewart-Crane had withdrawn herself a little, with her daughter, from the commoner company; Enid might have been observed holding the hand of Jordan Tant.Daniel Meggison, for his part, more than once put the lives of them all in peril by standing up in the boat, holding on to the person nearest him, and declaring that he distinctly saw land; after such an exhibition he was usually hauled down unceremoniously by the coat-tails by his son.
"Got any notion where we are?" growled Simon Quarle over his shoulder to Gilbert.
"Not the slightest," replied Byfield in the same tone. "As a matter of fact, I didn't trouble very much about the direction we were taking during the past few days."
"Then we must hope for luck—and cheer up the women," said Quarle, bending to his oar again.
"It might help a bit, sir, if I was to serve out breakfast," said Pringle, looking back over his shoulder. "It isn't much, sir; but it might well be less. At the worst, it'll keep us going for a day or two, sir."
"Go ahead then—but be sparing," said Gilbert.
"Very good, sir," replied Pringle cheerfully; and proceeded to hand out miscellaneous provisions forthwith.
"I feel that I am a citizen of the world," said Daniel Meggison, biting a biscuit, and looking round upon his fellow-voyagers. "Anything might happen to me—anything may happen; but at least I shall have warmed both hands at the fire of life."
"That's about the only fire you ever will warm your hands at, Dad, I should think," retorted Aubrey. "Beastly chilly on the sea at this time of the morning." He flogged himself viciously with his arms as he spoke. "Besides, how anybody can be cheerfulunder these horrible circumstances licks me. Biscuits—and tinned things—and water!"
"Water is certainly a drawback, but I believe thirst is even worse," said Mr. Meggison.
"If Mr. Stocker and I were at home now we should at least be having a comfortable breakfast," said Mrs. Stocker, shivering. "I do hope that girl is looking after the house; ten chances to one she won't have dusted the place since last I set foot in it. I wonder what'll happen if we all go to the bottom of the sea? I wonder if she'll stop at the house, and hope for us to come back."
"Let us hope, on our own accounts, that we shall go back, my dear," said Mr. Stocker. "After all, we're not the worst off by any means," he added, lowering his voice. "Mr. Byfield, for instance—think what he's lost. All that great vessel gone to the bottom of the sea."
"Well, he ought to have had more sense than to go tearing over the ocean, and bumping into things in the dark the way he did," snapped Mrs. Stocker.
"I don't know whether you noticed, ma'am," said Daniel Meggison genially, as he turned to Mrs. Ewart-Crane, "that about a fortnight ago, in one of the Sunday papers, there was an account of a shipwrecked crew—provisions exhausted—who decided to draw lots as to which of them should be killed to provide sustenance for the remainder. It fell to the cook——"
"I do not read the Sunday papers, sir," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane, turning her back upon him.
"That's a pity," he retorted, nothing abashed. "They seemed to find the cook somewhat reluctant,but finally overcame his scruples, and were just deciding how best to dispose his person among the crew—to divide him up, in fact, ma'am—when there was a cry from one of the number that a vessel was in sight. So the cook escaped. Highly interesting narrative, ma'am."
"Even in the small compass of this boat, sir, you will find that it is more convenient to draw the line, if I may use the expression, between class and class," said Mr. Jordan Tant icily. "Because a lady is compelled to sit upon the same seat with you in a boat on the open sea is no reason why you should force your conversation upon her. It isn't done, sir."
"Confound your impudence!" exclaimed Daniel Meggison, starting to his feet. But Aubrey promptly pulled him down again, and he retired, muttering, into the depths of his large frock-coat, the collar of which he had turned up about his ears.
A mist had settled down again over the sea. They pulled on and on steadily, with no definite purpose in their minds as to what was to happen to them. But presently, amid a silence that had fallen upon them all (for even Daniel Meggison had given up conversation as hopeless under the circumstances), Gilbert leaned forward and spoke to Simon Quarle.
"I can hear the sound of waves breaking on rocks," he said. "I thought I heard it just now; but now I'm certain."
They rested upon their oars, and listened; the sound was unmistakable. Everyone sat up, and began to offer suggestions as to where they were, and what the land was likely to be; the three rowers settled again to their work. And now the sound grew louder andlouder, until presently, jutting up out of the mist, was a grey shadow that was certainly land—a grey shadow that presently resolved itself into a sloping shore, with white crested waves breaking upon it. They pulled cautiously, looking for an opening; Daniel Meggison was with difficulty restrained from leaping to his feet and shouting.
"For my part, I do hope there'll be somebody that can speak the English language," said Mrs. Stocker. "Also I hope there won't be any unnecessary bumping when we do land. I remember when I was a girl at Brighton when we were run up on the beach in a very nice boat——"
The speech was cut short by the boat that moment taking ground gently; the three men sprang out, and began to haul it up on the sloping shore. One by one the cramped passengers were handed out over the seats; they stood on a desolate shore, without any sign of human habitation anywhere, and looked about them forlornly.
"Looks to me very much like an island, sir," said Pringle cheerfully.
"By all the rules of the game it certainly ought to be an island," said Daniel Meggison.
THE first business of the shipwrecked party, after hauling up the boat and taking out of it the various stores it contained, was to make some attempt at exploring the place upon which they had been so unceremoniously flung. That is true, at least, of the more energetic members, practically consisting of Gilbert Byfield, and Simon Quarle and Pringle.
Daniel Meggison and his son, together with Mr. Tant, were left to guard the ladies against those unknown dangers which in this strange place might threaten them; Mrs. Stocker had already declared that she had "heard savages"—but declined to enter into particulars regarding what particular noise she referred to. So in the grey morning mist Julia Stocker and her husband, and Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter, seated themselves upon the shore, and Daniel Meggison and his son with Mr. Tant stood ready to hurl themselves upon any approaching foe.
Byfield and his two companions had set off round the shore; and they had scarcely gone fifty yards when out of the mists they had left behind there came towards them, crying to them, someone running. Gilbert stood still, and even went back a few paces; and so came face to face with Bessie. She caught athis hand, and for a moment it seemed as though the old friendly confidence was restored between them.
"I want to go with you," she panted.
"Come along then," he responded quickly; and they moved on to join the others.
"We mustn't make up our minds that the place is an island until we've made the circuit of it," said Simon Quarle as they went on. "Romantic notions are one thing—but we may be quite near to civilization."
"It only shows, sir, what a wonderful thing schooling is," said Pringle, pausing for a moment, and speaking with the utmost respect. "Now when I was a nipper,—boy I mean, sir—I was only too glad to cut what lessons I could, sir. But suppose, for instance, I hadn't had it well rubbed into me that an island was a piece of land entirely surrounded by water—I might have got into quite a muddle over this. Shouldn't have known, sir, how to set about it to find out if it reallywasan island. Wonderful thing education, sir."
By means of a pocket compass which dangled on the watchchain of Simon Quarle they discovered first that they were going due south, and then that they were turning towards the west. It was at about the most western point of the island that they found that the character of the land changed, and that from some low hills a deep wood stretched down almost to the shore. Skirting this, and turning northward, they found their further progress barred by a great chain of rocks that rose abruptly from the more level ground and plunged also straight out into the sea. It was obviously impossible for them any longer to keepto the coast; they skirted this line of rocks inland, and came in a comparatively short time again to the sea. This time the coast pointed southwards; following it, they came to the boat drawn up on the beach, and to the little company of people they had left.
"I see exactly the shape of this place," said Simon Quarle, rapidly scraping out a rough design on the sand. "It is pear-shaped, with the narrowest part of the pear (where the stalk would be) to the north, and the broadest part of it running from east to west. There is only one question we've left unsettled; what is beyond those rocks?"
"The sea, of course," said Gilbert. "Though what part of the sea, or what this island is, or where we are, I haven't the least notion."
"The great question is—what are we going to live on?" asked Daniel Meggison, looking round upon the little company. "Fish we might procure, if anyone happened to be expert enough to capture them, or if we had rods and lines; certain berries might also be discovered which would sustain life. Of course in all probability so soon as the mist lifts we may be able to make signals, and to attract the attention of some passing ship."
"We must find out what lies beyond those rocks," said Bessie. "Will you come with me, Mr. Quarle?"
"I'll go with you," broke in Gilbert eagerly; but she kept her eyes fixed on Simon Quarle, and presently walked away with him.
"Mr. Quarle—what is going to happen to us?" she asked when they were out of ear-shot of the others. "I am a little afraid, because this has come upon usso suddenly; but is there no escape—no chance of getting away?"
"Don't know, I'm sure—utterly impossible to say," said Quarle. "If we knew where we were, things might be different; or if the other boats turned up with the crew in them. But I'm afraid we're a mere set of amateurs at this Robinson Crusoe business—and I don't quite know what really will happen to us. At any rate we're on dry land—which is better than knocking about in an open boat on the sea—isn't it?"
They came again to that great wall of rock, and after some search discovered a sort of natural path which went up the face of it, and was comparatively easy to climb. As they gained the top, their worst suspicions were realized; on the other side of what was practically merely a thick wall of rocks they heard the sea booming restlessly and peered only into the mist which shrouded it. As Quarle had said, this was the end of the island—the narrow part of the pear-shaped place on which the sea had tossed them.
They scrambled down the rocks, and retraced their steps in a gloomy silence. As they were nearing the place where they had left the party, Bessie suddenly stopped, and faced Simon Quarle, and spoke with something of the old, quiet, steady resolution that had been hers in Arcadia Street.
"Mr. Quarle—even if you and I are desperately afraid we musn't let the others know it," she said; "we've got to go on keeping brave faces until something worse happens—and even then we've got to keep brave faces. We shall have to make the best of the provisions we've got; and still we must keepbrave faces even when we're beginning to be hungry. We've got to find some place to shelter us at night; and perhaps, after all, help may come sooner than we anticipate."
"And perhaps, if help doesn't come, or if things get to the worst, little Miss Make-Believe may contrive to make us all think that things are better than they are—eh?" He smiled at her whimsically.
She stood for a moment looking out to sea; she did not turn to him when she spoke. "If we can live here at all, we may need all the make-believe we have in us," she said. "My poor make-believe seems to have made shipwreck of my life, and the lives of others too; perhaps here it may be more useful. I wonder!"
Quarle moved nearer to her for a moment; spoke to her over her shoulder. "Bessie—I haven't cared to say anything to you about—about yourself—and about this man. I rushed off to Newhaven, thinking you might need a friend; have you nothing to say to me?"
"Only to thank you," she replied. "There's some strange Fate working for me—or against me; I suppose that's why I've been dropped out of the world I knew into this place."
"You're not answering my question; you're not being fair to me," he said. "Have you nothing to say to me about this matter—about yourself? Do you love him?"
She stood still for a moment or two, looking at the waves tumbling at her feet; the man waited.
"Yes," she replied at last; and then turned swiftly to him, pouring out a very flood of words upon him. "I love him with all my heart and soul; there's noother man in all the world like him; he's my life—my everything. And just for that reason, and just because of what he has done, I can never have anything to do with him. In spite of all I said to him, I know only too well why he lavished all that money on me; I know that he never meant to wound me, or to shame me in the eyes of other people. That wasn't his fault; it was the fault of those who traded upon his generosity. If I have been shamed and hurt—how much more has he been shamed and hurt because of me. There"—she laughed quickly, and brushed the tears from her eyes—"that's the end of it—and that's the last time I shall ever speak of it. It's good to tell a secret sometimes—and I've told mine to the best friend ever a poor unhappy girl had. I won't ask if you're going to keep my secret—because that would be insulting you, and would show that I didn't know what a good friend I've got. And you won't ever speak of this again to me?"
He did not answer in words; he took her hand for a moment, and gripped it; when presently they moved off towards the others he still held that hand as she walked beside him. Only when they came in sight of those who waited for them did he drop the hand, and resume his ordinary attitude of walking with his own clasped behind his back.
"It's an island," said Simon Quarle. "We climbed up the rocks, and there's nothing but the sea beyond. Therefore we must make the best of it."
"Someone ought to be appointed to look after the provisions and things generally—a sort of temporary ruler," said Daniel Meggison. "As perhapsthe oldest here I'm quite ready to take the post. It requires dignity—and all that sort of thing."
"I think we can leave the question of the provisions to Pringle," said Gilbert, "with the understanding that he is to be careful."
"Certainly, sir; most happy, sir," responded Pringle. "Sparing in all things, sir—and stimulants to be kept for medicinal purposes," he added.
"What the devil's the man winking at me for?" demanded Daniel Meggison fiercely as he turned away.
As the morning advanced the day grew very hot. There was no protection from the sun whatever on that side of the island, and it was presently arranged that one of the spare sails in the boat should be rigged up to form a species of shelter. There the women sat—a little removed from each other, so far as the Ewart-Cranes and Mrs. Stocker were concerned—and dozed at intervals; Bessie seemed to take her place naturally enough with Simon Quarle and Gilbert in the actual work that lay before them if they were to make any attempt to live at all.
Curiously enough, perhaps the most active of them all was that meek little man, Edward Stocker. Relieved for the first time in his married life from the thraldom of Mrs. Stocker, he was like a boy playing some great game; he entered into it with the zest of a child. He it was who, setting out to make some further exploration of the island, and being lost for an hour or so, was presently observed racing towards them with wildly waving arms, shouting something wholly unintelligible as he ran. Mr. Daniel Meggison seeing him, promptly got behind Simon Quarle, interposingthat gentleman between himself and coming danger.
"He is pursued by some terrible beast—and we have no weapons!" he shrieked.
However, as Mr. Stocker drew nearer it was observed that his face was beaming with genuine pleasure, and that he was evidently very greatly excited. He bounded into their midst, and announced his great discovery.
"I say—gentlemen—everybody—I've found a building!"
"A building?" they echoed, staring at him.
"Up there—beyond that long hill you can see," panted Mr. Stocker, pointing. "It seems like a big sort of hut—but I didn't care to go in. Rather dilapidated—but unmistakably a hut."
"It is pretty obvious that someone has lived here before," said Jordan Tant. "More than that, it's not improbable that someone is living here now. Somebody had better go and look at the place," he added. "I'll stay here in case the ladies get alarmed."
Mr. Daniel Meggison also deciding to remain for the same gallant purpose, the rest of the party tramped off northwards, guided by Mr. Stocker, who was obviously not a little proud of himself. Skirting the foot of the low hills that seemed to lie in the very centre of the island, they presently came to a large hut, almost obscured by a tangle of trees and bushes, but in fairly good condition. After some little hesitation they ventured to thrust open the crazy door, and to peer inside; by the light which came streaming through an aperture near the roof they saw that the place was empty, and noticed with furthersatisfaction that it was dry and fairly clean. Whatever hermit had once inhabited it had long since departed, leaving behind him but few traces of his occupancy.
A few rough boards had been nailed together in one corner to form a sort of bed; and on this some old brushwood still lay. An empty barrel, with nothing upon it to indicate what it had once contained or from whence it had come, stood in one corner; and on a heavy flat stone just under the aperture in the wall stood an old battered cooking-pot, quite sound, and with the ashes of some ancient fire still surrounding it. The place had a ghostly look, even on that bright sunshiny day; but it was better than nothing.
"With a touch here and there, sir, this place could be made a palace," said Pringle. "It's a good sizeable place too; a bit primitive, perhaps, sir, but none the worse for that. At any rate we could get it ready for the ladies, sir, against to-night."
"Is it bein' suggested that the gentlemen of the party sleep in the open air?" asked Aubrey. "I've nothin' to say against it for myself, mind you—but I've not been used to it, and I don't quite see why it should be necessary, even under special circumstances. Of course I wouldn't wish——"
"The ladies will sleep here to-night," said Gilbert. He turned to Bessie, who had accompanied the party. "Do you think the ladies will object?" he asked.
"I don't know," she responded, with a half-smile, "but I should think they'd be glad. Don't you think, Mr. Byfield, that things are turning out rather well?"
"Splendidly!" he exclaimed, glad of that friendlyword from her. "But I wonder who can have lived in this place—and lived alone; or so it seems, at least. Whoever it was must have been taken off, I suppose, by some passing vessel; but how many years ago—or under what circumstances—it's impossible to say."
"Whoever it was, we certainly hope and trust he was a gentleman," said Aubrey, as he moved away. "My word," he added from a safe distance, "if it wasn't for my sister I might have somethin' to say about this that would astonish people!"
That great discovery was duly communicated to the ladies; Mrs. Stocker, who had had visions of sleeping in the open air, guarded by Mr. Stocker, heaved a sigh of relief at the prospect of shelter. Mrs. Ewart-Crane, on the other hand, took Jordan Tant aside to speak of a vital matter.
"Island or no island, it is of course distinctly understood that I do not share the same sleeping accommodation with the Stocker woman, or with this girl. Kindly arrange that some other hut is discovered, or at all events that the present one be divided into two parts."
"Doesn't it strike you, ma, that we're rather lucky to get any place to sleep in at all—and that the girl, at any rate, isn't half a bad sort?" asked Enid good-naturedly.
"Silence, Enid; you do not seem to understand that certain social distinctions must be observed, even in such a place as this. In London I should not know the Stocker woman; why should I know her here? The island is large, I am informed; let her discover some other place for herself."
Even in that crisis the wonderful Pringle proved equal to the emergency. It being mentioned by Jordan Tant to Gilbert that there was a difficulty as to the sharing of that limited accommodation designed for the ladies, Gilbert in despair summoned his henchman; and Pringle smiled and suggested a way out.
"It's always the way with the ladies, sir—bless 'em!" he replied cheerfully. "My poor old mother never could get on with the next-door neighbour, sir—no matter whether we lived in a small and humble way—or whether we was in what you might call the mansions of the great; mother being a caretaker, sir, and rather a good caretaker at that. Of course it isn't to be expected that a lady of the stiffness of Mrs. Crane should wish to lay herself down in the presence of people she doesn't really know; so I'll rig a sail up, sir, across the middle, and they can toss for sides if they can't decide any other way, sir. Leave it to me, sir; if you'll excuse the liberty, sir, I may say I know their little failings—an' I know just how to humour them, sir."
So the sail was rigged up, and Mrs. Stocker and Bessie took possession of one side of the hut, while Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid occupied the other. Pringle had collected brushwood and dried grasses, and had made two very respectable beds; the moon, when it came to the hour for retiring, was fine and fair above them, and the night was warm.
But before that there had come another great surprise, in the form of an impromptu supper. Certain provisions had been served out during the day, in a promiscuous fashion, by Pringle; but now, wheneveryone was gathered about the hut, the final preparations were being made, and "good nights" being said, Pringle appeared with something of a flickering smile about his face, and made a startling announcement.
"Ladies and gentlemen—supper is served!"
"Look here, my man—a joke is a joke—but pray remember your place, and don't carry a joke too far," said Daniel Meggison sternly. "Remember who you are—and take yourself off."
"This way, if you please, sir," said Pringle, taking not the faintest notice of Daniel Meggison. "Not far, sir—just round the corner, as you might say."
He led the way, and the others followed wonderingly. Presently they came to a little clearing, sheltered by the hill that rose behind it; and in that clearing was a fire upon the ground, and over the fire was propped the old cooking-pot that had been discovered in the hut. Bessie was bending over the cooking-pot, and from it there wafted to the hungry little company an appetizing odour.
"By Jove!—this is capital," exclaimed Gilbert. "We can sit round here in gipsy fashion, and enjoy it. Pringle—this is really clever of you."
"I see no necessity for my daughter to be occupied in a menial office," said Mr. Daniel Meggison stiffly. "After all, there are certain decencies to be observed, even in this place."
"Not me, sir—nothing to do with me, sir," said Pringle, answering Gilbert Byfield. "I certainly did gather the sticks for the fire—but that's about all, sir. The cooking idea wasn't mine at all; I doubt ifI could have done it. Miss Meggison, sir, is the lady who's saved our lives, as you might say, sir, to-night."
"It is certainly well to be experienced in these matters," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane, lowering herself to the ground.
"It was quite easy," said Bessie, busying herself with the pot. "When Pringle and I came to look into things, we found that there were preserved meats and preserved vegetables; so it seemed to me that we might have a sort of stew. It's a little mixed—but I think it's nice. Pringle—the plates, please."
"Certainly, Miss," responded Pringle, and instantly produced, as if from the result of a conjuring trick, half a dozen battered old tin plates.
"This is wonderful—and most comfortable," said Mr. Edward Stocker.
"They took a bit of cleanin', sir," explained Pringle. "I found 'em under some of the rubbish in the hut—likewise a knife and fork and a big spoon. The big spoon's in the pot—and the knife and fork I suppose ought to be handed to one of the ladies."
"I have never eaten with my fingers yet—not even in the matter of asparagus," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane instantly.
"Then it's no use your makin' a start at this time of day—is it, ma'am?" responded Pringle, handing over the knife and fork to her with much politeness. "It's a three-pronger, ma'am—but still a fork's a fork."
The steaming food was handed out—Pringle deftly holding the battered tin plates to be filled. The little company was so ravenously hungry thateven with that limited number of plates there was not much waiting, nor did it seem to be considered necessary that the plates should be washed for a newcomer. Mrs. Ewart-Crane ate with some elegance, and in a grim silence; the others used their fingers, and laughed a little among themselves at the strange meal. Then, when it was all over, and Pringle had collected the plates, and had taken away the cooking-pot, the men gathered about the fire—or what was left of it—and sat there on the ground, sharing what tobacco they had, contentedly enough. Mr. Tant did not smoke; he sat in a glum silence, staring into the dying fire.
Gradually the fire burnt itself out; but by that time the men had made their several arrangements for sleep. Mr. Tant and Daniel Meggison and Simon Quarle lay down near the hut in a sheltered place, and seemed to fall asleep in a few minutes; Gilbert and Stocker and Aubrey remained by the fire. Presently they too stretched themselves for slumber; at the last, Gilbert Byfield, hearing the murmur of the waves in the distance, thought sleepily how strange it was that he should have been brought to this place, and in such company; wondered, without any real uneasiness, what was to become of them all. A figure stealing towards him in the darkness roused him; and he raised himself on one elbow, to find Pringle bending respectfully over him.
"Anything I can do for you, sir?" asked Pringle, in a whisper.
"Nothing, thank you. Good night."
"Good night to you, sir," responded Pringle."If I might take the liberty of laying myself down, sir, near to you——"
"By all means," said Gilbert.
"Much obliged, sir," said Pringle, dropping to the ground. "I just gave a last look at the hut as I came past—and everything seemed very quiet. A snore or two, sir—but that only suggests peace. Good night, sir!"