Part 18 (1/2)

Mr. Harris looked, and, opening the door with extreme care, melted slowly from a gaze too terrible for human endurance.

”We went down like a stone,” continued the mate, as Miss Smith resumed her seat and smiled at him. ”When we came up he tried to get away again.

I think we went down again a few more times, but I ain't sure. Then we crawled out; leastways I did, and pulled him after me.”

”He might have drowned you,” said Miss Smith, with a severe glance at her unfortunate admirer. ”And it's my belief that he tumbled in after all, and when you thought he was struggling to get away he was struggling to be saved. That's more like him.”

”Well, they're all right now,” said Mr. Smith, as Mr. Heard broke in with some vehemence. ”And this chap's going to 'ave the Royal Society's medal for it, or I'll know the reason why.”

”No, no,” said the mate, hurriedly; ”I wouldn't take it, I couldn't think of it.”

”Take it or leave it,” said Mr. Smith; ”but I'm going to the police to try and get it for you. I know the inspector a bit.”

”I can't take it,” said the horrified mate; ”it-it-besides, don't you see, if this isn't kept quiet Mr. Heard will be locked up for trying to commit suicide.”

”So he would be,” said the other man from his post by the door; ”he's quite right.”

”And I'd sooner lose fifty medals,” said Mr. Dix. ”What's the good of me saving him for that?”

A murmur of admiration at the mate's extraordinary n.o.bility of character jarred harshly on the ears of Mr. Heard. Most persistent of all was the voice of Miss Smith, and hardly able to endure things quietly, he sat and watched the tender glances which pa.s.sed between her and Mr. Dix.

Miss Smith, conscious at last of his regards, turned and looked at him.

”You could say you tumbled in, Arthur, and then he would get the medal,”

she said, softly.

”Say!” shouted the overwrought Mr. Heard. ”Say I tum-”

Words failed him. He stood swaying and regarding the company for a moment, and then, flinging open the door, closed it behind him with a bang that made the house tremble.

The mate followed half an hour later, escorted to the s.h.i.+p by the entire Smith family. Fortified by the presence of Miss Smith, he pointed out the exact scene of the rescue without a tremor, and, when her father narrated the affair to the skipper, whom they found sitting on deck smoking a last pipe, listened undismayed to that astonished mariner's comments.

News of the mate's heroic conduct became general the next day, and work on the ketch was somewhat impeded in consequence. It became a point of honor with Mr. Heard's fellow-townsmen to allude to the affair as an accident, but the romantic nature of the transaction was well understood, and full credit given to Mr. Dix for his self-denial in the matter of the medal. Small boys followed him in the street, and half Pebblesea knew when he paid a visit to the Smith's, and discussed his chances. Two nights afterwards, when he and Miss Smith went for a walk in the loneliest spot they could find, conversation turned almost entirely upon the over-crowded condition of the British Isles.

The Starfish was away for three weeks, but the little town no longer looked dull to the mate as she entered the harbor one evening and glided slowly towards her old berth. Emma Smith was waiting to see the s.h.i.+p come in, and his taste for all other amus.e.m.e.nts had temporarily disappeared.

For two or three days the course of true love ran perfectly smooth; then, like a dark shadow, the figure of Arthur Heard was thrown across its path. It haunted the quay, hung about the house, and cropped up unexpectedly in the most distant solitudes. It came up behind the mate one evening just as he left the s.h.i.+p and walked beside him in silence.

”Halloa,” said the mate, at last.

”Halloa,” said Mr. Heard. ”Going to see Emma?”

”I'm going to see Miss Smith,” said the mate.

Mr. Heard laughed; a forced, mirthless laugh.

”And we don't want you following us about,” said Mr. Dix, sharply. ”If it'll ease your mind, and do you any good to know, you never had a chance She told me so.”

”I sha'n't follow you,” said Mr. Heard; ”it's your last evening, so you'd better make the most of it.”

He turned on his heel, and the mate, pondering on his last words, went thoughtfully on to the house.

Amid the distraction of pleasant society and a long walk, the matter pa.s.sed from his mind, and he only remembered it at nine o'clock that evening as a knock sounded on the door and the sallow face of Mr. Heard was thrust into the room.