"Art afraid of her?" said Hugh, noticing his unusual quiet manner. "I must see about her, poor thing, for certain—as soon as I have shifted my business on to Josh Howels. I see no safety for her or for us except the asylum."
"Yes, clap her in," said the old man. "I don't like the look of her eyes."
Ivor Parry, though looking pale and shaken, had astonished everybody by appearing in the sail-shed as usual in the morning, and when Hugh entered was standing not far from the open doorway. An exchange of greetings was unavoidable between them.
"A brâf day," said Ivor, looking up from a sail which he was examining, "a brâf day, Mishteer, and the end of the storm, I think. I hope the Mishtress has not suffered from her wetting."
"Not much," said Hugh, fixing grave eyes upon his whilom friend.
Poor Ivor endeavoured to stand his scrutiny, but, it must be confessed, with no great success.
"Not much," continued Hugh, "and I have to thank you for risking your life to save hers. Dear God! had I known it was my wife you were going to save, you would not so easily have overcome me and pushed me out of your boat."
"B'dsiwr, b'dsiwr! I did not know myself it was the Mishtress. I thought it was Gwen, or I would not have thrust you back. You must forgive me that, Hugh."
He was keenly conscious that, in addressing him, Hugh had dropped the familiar "thee" and "thou," and he fell at once into the more formal manner himself.
"We would both have done the same for any woman."