Part 15 (2/2)

Their whispered talk ceased when they saw the girl. Absorbed in the prospect of a fight for life, for the moment they had forgotten her, but a murmured tribute of sympathy and recognition greeted her appearance.

The Irishman found his tongue first.

”Begorrah, miss,” he said, ”but it's the proud man I'll be the next time I see you smilin' from the kay side at Liverpool, no matter whether I'm there meself or not.”

No one laughed at the absurd phrase which so clearly expressed its meaning. But the s.h.i.+p's cook, Peter, noting the strips of dried meat in her hands, raised a grin by saying:

”Sorry the galley fire is out, miss, or I'd 'ave stewed 'em a bit.”

This kindly badinage was gratifying, though it helped to reveal the interrupted topic of their conversation. There was no hiding the desperate character of the coming adventure. The _Andromeda's_ crew did not attempt to minimize it. The choice offered lay only in the manner of their death. As to the prospect of ultimate escape, they hardly gave it a thought. Some among them had served in the armies of Europe, and they, at least, were under no delusion concerning the issue of an attack on a fort by less than a score of unarmed men--seventeen to be exact, since two of the s.h.i.+p's company were so maimed by the bursting of the sh.e.l.l on the forecastle as to be practically helpless; it was by the rarest good fortune that they were able to walk.

Iris smiled at them in her frank way.

”I hope you will all be spared to s.h.i.+p on a new _Andromeda_,” she said.

No sooner had the words left her lips than the thought came unbidden: ”If my uncle and Captain c.o.ke wished the s.h.i.+p to be thrown away, nothing could have better suited their purposes than this tragic error.”

For the instant, the unforeseen outcome of that Sunday afternoon's plotting in the peaceful garden of Linden House held her imagination.

She recalled each syllable of it, and there throbbed in her brain the hitherto undreamed of possibility that c.o.ke had brought the _Andromeda_ to Fernando Noronha in pursuance of his thievish project.

At once she whispered to Hozier:

”Is there anyone on the path below?”

”No,” he said. ”The Brazilians are with c.o.ke at the top of the gully.”

”Is it safe for us to go the other way.”

”I think so. But you must be careful not to slip.”

She caught his arm, little knowing the thrill her clasp sent through his frame. This simple gesture of her confidence was bitter-sweet. He resolutely closed his eyes to the knowledge that this might be their last talk.

”I shall not fall,” she said. ”I am a good mountaineer. I learnt the trick of it in c.u.mberland. Come with me. There is a pleasant breeze blowing from the sea.”

They climbed down. Neither spoke until they stood on the curving ledge that had proved their salvation. Though the tide was rising again, the heavy sea was gone. The current still created some spume and noise as it swept past the reef, but its anger had vanished with the gale.

Beyond the fringe of broken water a slight swell only served to mirror in countless facets the tender light of a perfect sunset. The eastern horizon was a broad line of silver. Nearer, the shadow of the island created bands of purest green and ultramarine.

They reached the place from which the Brazilians had thrown the rope.

They could hear the quiet plash of the water in the cleft. Piled against a low-lying rock were the funnel and other debris of the _Andromeda_. The black hull was plainly visible beneath the surface.

Even while they were looking at the wreck a huge fish curled his ten feet of length with stealthy grace from out some dim recess; it might be, perhaps, from out the crushed sh.e.l.l of the chart-room.

Hozier glanced at his companion. He half expected her to shrink back appalled at this sinister sight; it was her destiny to surprise him not once but many times during that amazing period.

”Is that a shark?” she asked quietly.

”Yes. . . . You stipulated for candor, you know.”

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