Brenda was in no manner surprised when he presently turned to Mrs. Wylie and said:
“It is no use waiting any longer. I think you and Brenda had better go down to dinner, while I take the longboat and sail down to see what is delaying them.”
The hostess made no attempt to combat his decision, but amended it hospitably.
“You must have some dinner first,” she said decisively. There was no interchange of anxious doubts, no alleviating suggestions of obvious worthlessness, such as timid people proffer readily to persons suffering from suspense; and Brenda felt that there was a great courage behind the smiling woman’s face at her side.
Trist went forward to where Captain Barrow was standing, smoking his evening pipe just abaft the mainmast.
“Will you get out the longboat, please,” the ladies heard him say, “with mast, and sail, and one man?”
Presently he joined them in the saloon, where they were pretending to dine, and hurriedly drank some soup. No one spoke, and the sound of the sailors’ movements as they lowered the longboat was the only break in an uncomfortable silence. The steward moved noiselessly and lithely, as behoved his calling.
“Your oilskins are in your stateroom, sir,” he whispered presently to Trist, who soon afterwards passed through the narrow doorway into his little apartment.
When he came out he was fully clad against the fine cold rain which was falling now. Even in heavy sea-boots he managed to walk smoothly.
The lamp had been lighted in the saloon, and he stood for a moment within its rays, looking at the two ladies. It was an incongruous and unconsciously dramatic picture thus formed in the refined little saloon, the two gracious women smiling wistfully at the straight, slim man in gleaming waterproofs. The very contrast between their delicate evening-dresses and his seamanlike attire was a shock. The white tablecloth, adorned with polished silver and odorous flowers, seemed a mockery, because there were two empty chairs beside it.
He leant over the back of his chair, and, reaching his wineglass, which stood half full, he emptied it.
“Do not be anxious,” he said; “I expect we shall be back before you have finished dinner.”
And he passed out of the saloon, swinging his sou’-wester by its strings.
“We will keep some dinner warm for you both,” called out Mrs. Wylie cheerfully, and from a distance he answered:
“Thank you!”
While continuing their homeopathic meal they heard the sound of men’s voices, the creak of a block, and immediately afterwards the rush of the longboat through the water under heavy sail.
It was very cold that evening, and, owing to the heavy clouds, almost dark. Nevertheless the ladies went on deck immediately after the farce of dinner had been carried to an end. At first they talked in a scrappy, strained way, and then lapsed into silence. Wrapped closely in their cloaks, they walked side-by-side fore and aft. Owing to the fine drizzle which blew across the fjord, it was now impossible to distinguish any object more than a mile away from the yacht, and the two women were enveloped in a silent gray veil of suspense.
Until ten o’clock they continued their vigil—alone on the deck except for the watchful steward standing within the galley-door. Then Brenda espied a sail looming through the gray mist.
“There is one of the boats,” she said gently, but there was a faint thrill of dread in her voice.
Mrs. Wylie made no answer, but walked to the after-rail, out from beneath the awning, into the rain. Brenda followed, and there they stood waiting.
“It is the gig,” said the elder woman half to herself, otherwise the horrible moments passed mutely by.
There was but one man in the boat. Trist had undoubtedly sent for help. Contrary to etiquette, the sailor did not make for the steps hanging amidships, but came straight beneath the counter of the Hermione, lowering his sail deftly, and standing up to touch his dripping sou’-wester as the boat fell alongside.
The sailor was young and impulsive. He did not think much of yachtsman etiquette just then, but stood up in his boat, holding on to the rail of the vessel with both hands.
“Please, marm,” he said hurriedly and unevenly, “I waited at the mouth of the river as the Admiral told me to do until seven o’clock, and he never came. Then I landed, and clambered up a bit to look for him. When a’ was a bit up I saw the longboat comin’ and Mr. Trist steering her, so I went down again. Mr. Trist’s gone up the river, marm, and me and Barker waited for two hours and heard nothin’. Then Barker says I’d better come on board an’ tell yer, marm.”
“You did quite right, Cobbold,” replied Mrs. Wylie, in a singularly monotonous voice. “You had better come on board and get something to eat; you look tired.”
But the man did not move. He shook his head.
“No, marm,” he said bashfully, “I’m not wantin’ anything t’eat. And I’m not tired … only I’m a bit … scared! I should like to go back, marm, at once to the river.”
Mrs. Wylie thought for a moment deeply.
“I will go back with you,” she said at length. Then she went forward to where Captain Barrow stood with the rest of the crew, now thoroughly aroused to anxiety, grouped behind him.
“Captain Barrow,” she said, in a tone slightly raised, so that all might hear her, “the Admiral has not come back yet. I am afraid that he has either hurt himself or is lost in the mist. I will go back with Cobbold in the gig. But … it will not be necessary to keep the men up.”
In the meantime, Brenda had not been idle. She ran down below and found the steward already in the saloon procuring waterproofs. He was kneeling before an open locker when she entered the little cabin, and, turning his head, he saw her.
“Are you going too, miss?” he asked.
“Yes, Clarke, I am going.”
“Then will you put this flask of brandy into your pocket, miss?
