"I shall not do that, you know."
"It is foolish, perhaps, to let our minds dwell on the future," said Brian, after a moment's pause; "but the more I think of it the more I wonder that your mind is so set upon dragging me back to England. You know that I don't want to go. You know that that business could be settled just as well without me as with me; better, in fact. I shall have to stultify myself; to repudiate my own actions; to write myself down an ass."
"Good for you," said Percival, with an ironical smile.
"Possibly; but I don't see what you gain by it."
"Love of dominion, my dear fellow. I want to drag you as a captive at my chariot-wheels, of course. We will have a military band at the Dunmuir Station, and it shall play 'See the conquering hero comes.'"
"Very well. I don't mind assisting at your triumph."
"Hum! My triumph? Wait till that day arrives, and we shall see. What's that fellow making frantic signs about from that biggest palm-tree? It looks as if——Good Heavens, Brian, it's a sail!"
He dashed the net that he had been making to the ground, and rushed off at the top of his speed to the place where a pile of wood and seaweed had been heaped to make a bonfire. Brian followed with almost equal swiftness. The others had already collected at the spot, and in a few minutes a thin, wavering line of smoke rose up into the air, and flashes of fire began to creep amongst the carefully-dried fuel.
For a time they all watched the sail in silence. Others had been seen before; others had faded away into the blue distance, and left their hearts sick and sore. Would this one vanish like the others? Was their column of smoke, now rising thick and black towards the cloudless sky, big enough to be seen by the man on the look-out? And, if it was seen—what then? Why, even then, they might choose to avoid that perilous reef, and pass it by.
"It's coming nearer," said Jackson, at last, in a loud whisper.