by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER VI
WHEREIN WARDEN SETS A NEW COURSE
Warden's theatre-going that evening resolved itself into a stroll inthe park and an early return to his chambers. Before going out, he hadthrown a towel over the calabash, and told the porter not to touchanything in the sitting-room. The plan was effective; the man of Okucreated no disturbance.
Oddly enough, the young officer was now beginning to understand themesmeric influence which Evelyn Dane and Peter Evans acknowledgedinstantly--and with this admission came the consciousness that thenegro's mask lost its power unless actually in evidence. Hence, noneof the vapors and misty fancies of the preceding hours interferedwith his rest. He slept soundly, rose betimes, and ate a goodbreakfast--unfailing signs these of a sound mind in a sound body.
Yet he might have been puzzled if called on to explain why hedeliberately placed the gourd in a sponge-bag, and put it in hisportmanteau before returning to the Isle of Wight. His action was,perhaps, governed by some sense of the fitness of things. If it wereordained that the presentment of the dead and gone M'Wanga shouldscowl again at the world during a period when the fortunes of hiscountry were at stake, it was not for Warden to disobey the silentedict. He was not swayed solely by idle impulse. In bringing thehead to London he meant to please the only people who knew of itsexistence; he ignored their wishes now because he felt a tugging at hisheart-strings when his thoughts reverted to the wretched history ofDomenico Garcia. The instant he arrived at this decision it ceased totrouble his mind further.
Before going to the station he made a few purchases, and, being nearPall Mall, thought he would secure any letters that might happen to beat his club. Among others, he found a pressing invitation from LadyHilbury asking him to call when in London. Now, he was, in a degree, aprot?g? of her ladyship. Her husband was a former governor of Nigeria,and her friendly assistance had helped, in the first instance, to liftWarden out of the ruck of youngsters who yearly replete the ranks ofofficialdom in West Africa. It was more than probable that Sir Charlesand Lady Hilbury would be out of town, and a note written at theirresidence would show that he visited them at the earliest opportunity.
To his surprise, Lady Hilbury was at home, and insisted that he shouldstay for luncheon.
Behold, then, Warden installed in a cozy morning-room, exchanginggossip with his hostess, and his parcels and portmanteau given over tothe butler's care.
He was irrevocably committed to an afternoon train when Lady Hilburyelectrified him with a morsel of news that was as unexpected as anyother shock that had befallen him of late.
"By the way, an old friend of yours is staying with me," shesaid--"Mrs. Laing--you knew her better as Rosamund Miller, I fancy?"
Warden schooled his features into a passable imitation of a smile. Mrs.Laing--the pretty, irresponsible Rosamund Miller--was the last personhe wished to encounter, but he was quick to see the twinkle in LadyHilbury's eyes, and he accepted the inevitable.
"I shall be glad to renew the acquaintance," he said. "It was brokenoff rather abruptly--at Government House if I remember aright."
"Poor Rosamund! That was her mother's contriving. She never reallyliked Laing, but he was what people term 'a good match,' and he hasat least justified that estimate of his worth by dying suddenly andleaving his widow nearly two hundred thousand pounds."
"A most considerate man," murmured Warden.
"Then you have not forgiven her?"
"Forgive! What a harsh word from your lips. Pray consider. On your ownestimate she owes me two hundred thousand thanks."
"Arthur, I don't like you as a cynic. I am old enough to be yourmother. Indeed, it was my love for your mother that first led me totake an interest in your welfare, and I should be doing wrong if I hidfrom you the fact that it nearly broke Rosamund's heart to throw youover."
"I trust the lapse of years has healed the fracture," he said.
Lady Hilbury looked at him in silence for a moment. She remembered thewhite-faced subaltern who heard, at her hospitable table, that RosamundMiller had married a wealthy planter at Madeira--married him suddenly,within a month after her departure from the coast.
"Is there another woman?" she asked quietly.
"Not single spies but whole battalions. How I have managed to escapetheir combined charms all these years is a marvel. Seriously, LadyHilbury, you would not have me take a wife to my special swamp, andI would not care to leave her in England drawing half my pay. All mylittle luxuries would vanish at one fell swoop."
"I would like to see you happy, Arthur, and there is always thepossibility of marrying some one who would demand no sacrifices."
"Is Mrs. Laing out?" he inquired.
"Yes. Of course you want to meet her again?"
"I think not. I don't mean to be unkind, but the tender recollections Icherish are too dear to be replaced by a fresh set."
"That sounds theatrical--a sarcastic line out of some comedy ofmanners. If so, you shall have a wider stage than my boudoir. We lunchat one o'clock. It is 12.45 now, and Rosamund is always punctual."
Warden, though raging at the dilemma, made the best of it.
"How long has Mrs. Laing been a widow?" he said.
"Nearly a year. Evidently your bush campaign shut out the usual sourcesof intelligence."
He glanced at his watch.
"I really must catch the three o'clock train to Cowes," he explained."I am on Government service, and I suppose it would be quite impossibleto arrange everything in a couple of hours. I am unacquainted with theformalities, but even a special license demands--"
"How unkind! Arthur, what has happened to you? How you are changed!"
"Never changed where you are concerned, Lady Hilbury!" he cried,sentiment for once gaining the upper hand--"you, to whom I owe so much!That, indeed, would be the wintry wind of ingratitude. Now, let me makeamends. My behavior shall be discreet--my decorous sympathy worthy ofa High Church curate. I was staggered for a few seconds, I admit, butthe effects of the blow have passed, and my best excuse is that otherthings are perplexing me. I have no secrets from you, you know, so letme tell you why I am here."
Sure of an interested listener in the wife of an ex-ruler of the greatNiger territory, Warden plunged into an account of recent events.It was not necessary to mention Evelyn Dane in order to hold herattention. The first reference to Figuero and the Oku chiefs attainedthat end. No mean diplomatist herself, Lady Hilbury understood muchthat would perforce be hidden from all save those acquainted with WestAfrica.
"You will permit me to tell Charles?" came the eager question when hehad finished.
"Of course. Why not?"
"There are those in the administration who are jealous of his record,"she said. "Not every one has his tact in dealing with natives. It isno secret that our relations with the emirs of the interior have beenstrained almost to breaking point of late----"
A motor stopped outside the house and a bell rang. Lady Hilbury bentforward. Her voice sank to a new note of intense conviction.
"You have been given a great opportunity, Arthur. It may come soonerthan you think. Grasp it firmly. Let no man supplant you, and it willcarry you far."
Her ladyship's manner no less than her earnest words told Warden thatthere were forces in motion of which he was yet in complete ignorance.It was sufficiently puzzling to find an Under Secretary so wellinformed as to the identity of certain visitors to Cowes, but when awoman in the position of his hostess--with her wide experience of theseldom-seen workings of the political machine--went out of her wayto congratulate him on a "great opportunity," he was thrilled with asudden elation.
Thus, when his hand closed on that of Rosamund Laing, there was a flushon his bronzed face, a glint of power and confidence in his eyes, thatmight well be misinterpreted by a woman startled almost to the verge ofincoherence.
When she asked where Lady Hilbury was, and if she were alone, thefootman merely announced the fact that a gentleman had called andwould make one of the luncheon party. Rosamund en
tered the boudoirwith an air of charming impulsiveness practised so sedulously that ithad long ceased to be artificial. For once in her life it abandonedher. Warden's friendly greeting was such a bolt from the blue that shefaltered, paled and blushed alternately, and actually stammered a fewbroken words with the shy diffidence of a schoolgirl.
The phase of embarrassment passed as quickly as it had arisen. Both theman and the woman were too well-bred to permit the shadows of the pastto darken the present. Lady Hilbury, too, rose to the occasion, andthey were soon chatting with the unrestrained freedom of old and closeacquaintanceship.
Then Warden discovered that the lively impetuous girl who taught himthe first sharp lesson in life's disillusionment had developed intoa beautiful, self-possessed, almost intellectual woman of the world.She was gowned with that unobtrusive excellence which betokens perfecttaste and a well-lined purse. Certain little hints in her costumeshowed that the memory of her late husband did not press too heavilyupon her. The fashionable modiste can lend periodicity to grief, andMrs. Laing was passing through the heliotrope stage of widowhood.
Her exquisite complexion was certainly somewhat bewildering to theuntrained glance of the mere male. Warden's recollection, vivid enoughnow, painted a dark-skinned, high-colored girl of nineteen, withexpressive features, a mop of black hair, and a pair of brilliant eyesthat alternated between tints of deepest brown and purple.
The eyes remained, though their archness was subdued, but, for therest, he saw a neck and forehead of marvelous whiteness, a face ofrepose, cheeks and ears of delicate pink, and a waved and plaited massof hair of the hue known as Titian red. He found himself comparing herwith Evelyn Dane, whose briar-rose coloring shone through clusters ofdelightful little freckles, and, somehow, the contrast was displeasing.
The conventional smile of small talk must have yielded to the strain,because Rosamund Laing noticed his changed expression.
"Dear me, what have I said now?" she asked. They were seated at table,at the end of a pleasant meal, and the talk had wandered from recentdoings to a long-forgotten point to point steeple-chase won by Wardenon a horse which Rosamund herself had nominated.
He recovered his wandering wits instantly.
"It is not anything that you have said, Mrs. Laing, but my ownthoughts that are worrying me," he said. "I have been trying to dodgethe unpleasant knowledge that I must gather up my traps and fly toWaterloo. Lady Hilbury knows that I was _en route_ to the Solent whenI called--and--if I hesitated--which is unbelievable--she prevailedon me to stay by the overwhelming argument that you would appearforthwith."
It was the simplest of compliments, but it sufficed. Rosamundimperilled her fine complexion by blushing again deeply.
"I was indulging in the vain hope that we might see you often, now thatwe are all in England," she said.
"Captain Warden has still six months' furlough at his disposal," putin Lady Hilbury. "He is leaving town on business at the moment, but Ishall take care he returns at the earliest date."
He stood for a moment in a strong light when he was to say good-by.Mrs. Laing noticed the scar on his forehead.
"Have you had an accident?" she asked, with a note of caressingtenderness in her voice.
"Nothing to speak of. A slight knock on the head while swimming in theSolent--that is all."
The door had scarce closed on him when Rosamund turned to her friend.She spoke slowly, but Lady Hilbury saw that the knuckles of a whitehand holding the back of a chair reddened under the force of the grip.
"I dared not asked him," came the steady words, "but--perhaps you cantell me--is he unmarried?"
"Yes."
"And free?"
"My dear, I think so."
The younger woman let go the chair. Her hands flew to her face to hidethe tears that started forth unchecked.
"Ah, dear Heaven," she murmured, "if only I could be sure!"
That evening, while the incense of tobacco rose from the deck of the_Nancy_, Warden learned from Peter the history of the hours immediatelysucceeding his departure from Cowes.
It was unutterably annoying to hear that Figuero had seen him in EvelynDane's company, and he deduced a Machiavellian plot from the visitsubsequently paid by the Portuguese to the _Sans Souci_. The journey toMilford indirectly suggested by the Under Secretary's inquiry anent theappearance of the yacht now became a fixed purpose from which nothingwould divert him. It seemed to be impossible that Mr. Baumgartnercould fail to recognize the girl's description, since comparisonwith Rosamund Laing had shown him that Evelyn was by far the mostbeautiful creature in England! He was sure that her life would be mademiserable by suspicion, if, indeed, she had not already received a curtnotification that her services were not required.
Peter's afternoon with the negroes was evidently Gargantuan in itschief occupation--the consumption of ardent spirits.
"I never did see any crowd 'oo could shift liquor like them," musedthe skipper of the _Nancy_. "It was 'Dash me one bottole, Peter,'every five minutes if I'd run to it. I stood 'em three, just in yourinterests, captain, an' then I turned a pocket inside out, sayin' 'Nomore 'oof, savvy?' They savvied right enough. Out goes one chap theycalled Wanger----"
"Do you mean to tell me that one of those three men was named M'Wanga?"broke in Warden, and in the darkness Peter could not see the blankamazement on his employer's face.
"That's it, sir--funny sort o' click they gev' in front of it. Sink me,but you do it a treat! Well, 'is nibs comes back with two bottles, an'we finished the lot afore I began to wonder if I was quite sartin whichof my legs was the wooden one. But, bless yer 'eart, there's no 'arm inthem three niggers. I could live among 'em twenty year an' never 'ave awrong word wi' one of em.
"Could you gather any inkling of their business from their talk?"
Peter tamped some half-burned tobacco into the bowl of his pipe withthe head of a nail before replying.
"There was just one thing that struck me as a bit pecooliar, sir," hesaid, after a meditative pause. "A joker 'oo tole me 'is name was Panaseems to be sort o' friendly with a serving-maid in the _Lord Nelson_.She brought in the bottles I ordered, an' each time Pana tried to catch'old of 'er. The third time he grabbed her for fair, an' sez: 'You libfor Benin country w'en I king?' At that one of 'is pals jabbered somedouble Dutch, an' they all looked 'ard at me, but I was gazin' into thebottom of a glass at the time an' they thought I wasn't listenin'. Itnever occurred to 'em that I don't swaller with me ears."
"Were you present when Figuero returned?"
"Yes, sir, an' a nasty cur he can be w'en he likes. He called 'em allthe different sorts o' drunken swine he could think of, an' tole me Iwas wuss, to go leadin' pore ignorant blacks astray. My godfather! Fivebottles of Ole Tom among three of 'em, an' me, 'oo 'ates the smell o'gin, tryin' to doctor my poison wi' water! If you'll believe me, sir,at supper-time I couldn't bring myself to touch the nicest bit o' steakthat ever sizzled on the _Nancy_'s grid."
"When did the _Sans Souci_ sail?"
"Just before I sent you that telegram, sir. Chris saw the niggers an'the Portygee off by train, an' kem straight back to the dinghy. Wepulled away to the cutter, an' sighted the yacht steamin' west, soI 'bout ship an' landed Chris near the post-orfis. The butcher 'oosupplied their meat tole me this mornin' that he was to send his billto Plymouth."
Warden, who was wont to take pride in his ability to be absolutely lazywhen on a holiday, suddenly stood up.
"With this breeze we ought to make Plymouth by to-morrow morning?" hecried.
"Are you in earnest, guv'nor?" demanded the astonished Peter.
"Fully. Bring the cutter past the Needles, and as soon as St. Abb'sHead-light is a-beam you can turn in."
Evans realized that his master meant what he said. Chris, who was inbed and sound asleep, awoke next morning to find the _Nancy_ abreastof Star Point. They reached Plymouth in a failing wind about midday,but Warden's impatient glance searched the magnificent harbor in vainfor the trim outlines of the _Sans Souci_. As the cu
tter drew near theinner port both he and Peter knew that they had come on a wild-goosechase, no matter how assured the Cowes butcher might be of his accountbeing paid.
It was a gloriously fine day, but Warden's impatience brooked nointerference with his plans. It even seemed to him that the elementshad conspired with his personal ill luck to bring him into thisland-locked estuary and bottle him up there for a week. Strive as besthe might, he could not shake off the impression that he ought to beacting, and not dawdling about the south coast in this aimless fashion.He was quite certain that a dead calm had overtaken him, and, withthis irritating because unfounded belief, came a curious suggestion ofcalamity in store for the _Nancy_ if he tried to weather the Land's End_en route_ to Milford Haven.
"Go to Africa!" whispered some mysterious counselor in words that wereaudible to an unknown sense. "Go where you are wanted. Lady Hilburytold you that a great opportunity had presented itself. Seize it! Delaywill be fatal!"
Peter, watching the young officer furtively as he trimmed the cutter toher anchorage, was much perturbed. Though a true sailorman, he seldomswore, for his religious connections were deep and sincere, but he diduse anathemas now.
"I wish that d--d Turk's Head 'ad rotted in the sea afore ever it kemaboard this craft," he muttered. "There's bin nothin' but fuss an'worry every hour since that bonny lass set her eyes on it. Onless I'mvastly mistaken it'll bust up the cruise, an' here was Chris an' mefixed up to the nines for the nex' three months. It's too bad, that itis"--and the rest of his remarks became unfit for publication.
It would be interesting to learn how far Peter would have fallen fromgrace if he were told that the calabash was even then reposing in aportmanteau, by the side of Warden's bunk. Happily, he was spared theknowledge. It would come in good time, but was withheld for the present.
Warden, restless as a caged lion, did not, as was his habit, bring afolding-chair to the shady side of the mainsail and lose himself inthe pages of a book. A purpose in life of some sort became almost anobsession. Fixing on the _Sans Souci's_ known objective at the extremesouthwestern corner of Wales on the following Wednesday, he suddenlyhit upon the idea of walking across Dartmoor and taking a steamer fromIlfracombe to Swansea. Once committed to a definite itinerary of thatnature there would be no turning back. He counted on being able toaccomplish the first stage of the journey easily in three days, whichwould bring him to Ilfracombe on the Tuesday. The only question thatremained was the uncertainty of the steamship service, and a telegramto the shipping agents would determine that point in an hour or less.
So Peter brought him ashore in the dinghy, and the message wasdespatched, and Warden went for a stroll on the Hoe, of which pleasantpromenade he had hardly traversed a hundred yards when he saw EvelynDane seated there, deeply absorbed in a magazine. A bound of his heartcarried conviction to his incredulous brain. Though the girl's facewas bent and almost hidden by her hat, she offered precisely the sameharmonious picture that had so won his admiration when she sat oppositeto him in the dinghy on that memorable afternoon that now seemed soremote in the annals of his life.
A few steps nearer, and he could no longer refuse to believe hiseyes. He recalled the exact patterns of a brooch, a marquise ring, anornament in her hat. Seating himself, with a rapid movement, quiteclose to her, he said softly:
"More, much more, the heart may feel Than the pen may write or the lip reveal."
Evelyn turned with a startled cry. She was conscious that some onehad elected to share her bench; at the first sound of Warden's voiceshe was ready to spring up and walk away, without looking at him. Herbright face crimsoned with delight when she grasped the wonderful factthat he was actually at her side.
She closed the magazine with a bang, and held out her hand.
"This is indeed a surprise," she cried. "How in the world did you knowI was here?"
"I didn't know," he said, clasping her fingers firmly. "Atleast, that cannot be true. My ordinary eat-three-meals-a-day,keep-away-from-the-fire-and-you won't-get-burned wits informed me thatyou were in far-off Oxfordshire, but some kindly monitor from within,unseen, unheard, yet most worthy of credence, led me here, to yourside--may I say--to your very feet."
Laughing and blushing, and vainly endeavoring to extricate her handfrom his grasp--because truly she began to fear that he was drawingher towards him--her first uncontrolled action was to glance aroundand discover if any passers-by were gazing at them. Instantly she knewshe had made a mistake, and the imprisoned hand was snatched awayemphatically. If anything, this only added to her confusion, for itbore silent testimony to her knowledge of his loverlike attitude. Butshe gallantly essayed to retrieve lost ground.
"I was not an hour at home," she explained volubly, "before Mrs.Baumgartner telegraphed and afterward wrote an entire change ofarrangements. I am not going to Milford Haven. Miss Beryl Baumgartnercame with some friends to a little place down the coast there, a placecalled Salcombe, I think, and the _Sans Souci_ arrived there yesterday.They all come on to Plymouth this evening, and they wish me to beready to go on board about nine o'clock, when we sail for Oban, onlystopping twice on the way to coal."
"Marvelous!" cried Warden. "You reel off amazing statements with theself-possession of a young lady reciting a Browning poem. No, I shallnot explain what I mean--not yet, at any rate. The glorious factprevails that you are free till nine."
"Free!" she repeated, not that she was at a loss to understand him, butrather to gain time to collect her thoughts.
"Absurd, of course. I mean bound--absolutely bound to me for asuperb vista of--let me see--lunch--long drive in country--tea--moredriving--dinner.--Ah! let us not look beyond the dinner."
"But----"
"But me no buts. I shall butt myself violently against any male personwho dares to lay prior claim to you, while, should the claimant be alady, I shall butter her till she relents."
"Still----"
"I suppose I must listen," he complained. "Well, what is the obstacle?"
She hesitated an instant. Then, abandoning pretense--for she, likeWarden had lived through many hours of self-scrutiny since they partedat Portsmouth--she laughed unconcernedly.
"There is none that I know of," she admitted. "I had never seenPlymouth, so I traveled here yesterday evening. My belongings are inthe big hotel there. I am a mere excursionist, out for the day. Andnow that I have yielded all along the line, I demand my woman's rights.My presence here is readily explained. What of yours?"
He hailed a passing carriage and directed the man to take them to thehotel.
"I don't think I can really clear matters up to your satisfactionunless you permit me to call you Evelyn," he said, daringly irrelevant.
Midsummer madness is infectious--under certain conditions.
"That is odd," she cried, yet there was but feeble protest in her voice.
"To make things even you must call me Arthur."
"How utterly absurd!"
"That is not my fault. The name was given me. I yelled defiance, but Ihad to have it, like the measles."
"You know very well----"
"'Pon my honor, Evelyn, the greatest of your many charms is your promptsympathy. In those few words you have reconciled me to my lot."
"I think Arthur is rather a nice name," she sighed contentedly. Afterall, it was best to humor him, and he was the first man who had everwon her confidence.
"I ask for more than pity," he said. "Nevertheless, if I would gaincredence I must propound a plain tale. List, then, while I unfoldmarvels."
He was a good talker, and he kept her amused and interested, at timessomewhat thrilled, by the recital of his doings in London.
They were in a carriage speeding out into the lovely country westwardof Plymouth when he told her the strange history of Domenico Garcia.She shivered a little at the gruesome memory of the "parchment" whichshe had examined so intently, but she did not interrupt, save for anoccasional question, until he reached that part of his narrative whichended in the determination of the
previous night to sail to Plymouthforthwith.
"It is all very strange and mysterious," she said at last. "You werecoming to Milford Haven, I gather?"
"Yes."
"And were it not for the impulse that brought me here you would now beon your way over Dartmoor?"
"That was my fixed intention."
"Was it so very important that you should know all about the _SansSouci_?"
"I would have said so to the Under Secretary."
There was a pause. Warden deliberately passed the opening given byher words. In broad daylight, and whirling rapidly through a village,it behooved him to be circumspect. Between dinner and nine o'clock hewould contrive other opportunities.
"Lady Hilbury must be very nice," she went on, after a brief silence.
"You will like her immensely when you know her," he could not helpsaying, at the same time thanking his stars that he had made no mentionof Rosamund Laing.
There was a further pause. Evelyn fancied that her voice was well undercontrol when she asked:
"Have you decided to carry out poor Domenico Garcia's last request?"
"Before answering, will you tell me what you would do in my place?"
"I would go to Rabat, if it were in my power, and there were no unduerisk in the undertaking. I don't think I would be happy if I had notmade the effort. Yet, Rabat is a long way from England. Would you beabsent many weeks? Perhaps such a journey would spoil your leave. Andthen--things may happen in West Africa. You may be needed there."
"Rabat is a half-way house to Oku, Evelyn," he said. "I am going, ofcourse, for two reasons. In the first instance, I want to set Garcia'ssoul at rest about those masses which, it seems to me, can only be doneby obeying the letter of his instructions. And, secondly, I mean tosecure that ruby."
This time she passed no comment.
He caught her arm and bent closer.
"If I bring it to you in Madeira you will not refuse to accept it?" hesaid.
"Now you are talking nonsense," she replied, turning and looking at himbravely, with steadfast scrutiny.
"No. There would be a condition, of course. With the ruby you must takethe giver."
"Are you asking me to marry you?" she almost whispered.
"Yes."
"After knowing me a few idle hours of three days?"
"I was exactly the same mind the first time I met you. I see no validreason why I should change a well-balanced opinion during the nextthirty or forty years."
He felt her arm trembling in his clasp, and a suspicious moistureglistened in her fine eyes.
"I think, somehow, I know you well enough to believe that you are inearnest," she faltered. "But let us forget now that you have said thosewords. Come to me later--when your work is done--and if you care torepeat them--I shall--try to answer--as you would wish."
And then, for a few hours, they lived in the Paradise that can beentered only by lovers.
Not that there were tender passages between them--squeezings, andpressings and the many phrases of silent languages that mean "I loveyou." Neither was formed of the malleable clay that permits such suddenchange of habit. Each dwelt rather in a dream-land--the man hoping itcould be true that this all-pleasing woman could find it possible tosurrender herself to him utterly--the woman becoming more alive eachmoment to the astounding consciousness that she loved and was beloved.
Their happiness seemed to be so fantastically complete that they madeno plans for the future. They were wilfully blind to the shoals andcross currents that must inevitably affect the smooth progress ofthat life voyage they would make together. Rather, when they talked,did they seek to discover more of the past, of their common tastes,of their friends, of the "little histories" of youth. Thus did theyweld the first slender links of sweet intimacy--those links that arestronger than fetters of steel in after years--and the hours flew ongolden wings.
Once only did Warden hold Evelyn in his arms--in a farewell embraceere she left him to join the yacht. And, when that ecstatic moment hadpassed, and the boat which held his new-found mate was vanishing intothe gloom, he awoke to the knowledge that he had much to accomplishbefore he might ask her to be his bride.
But he thrust aside gray thought for that night of bliss. He almostsang aloud as he walked to the quay where Peter was waiting, afterreceiving a brief message earlier in the day. He was greeted cheerily.
"I'm main glad to see you again, sir," said the skipper of the _Nancy_."Somehows, I had a notion this mornin' that we was goin' to lose youfor good an' all."
Then Warden remembered the inquiry he had sent to Ilfracombe, andthe reply that was surely waiting for him at the post-office, and helaughed with a quiet joyousness that was good to hear.
"Peter," he said, "you're a first-class pilot, but neither you nor anyother man can look far into the future, eh?"
"No, sir," came the prompt answer, "that's a sea without charts orsoundin's an' full of everlastin' fog. But sometimes one can do a bito' guessin', an' that's wot I've bin doin' since Chris tole me he sawyou an' the young leddy a-drivin' in a keb!"