The interruption or answer proceeded from the girl who had been the cause of the search. The castaway turned, looking more puzzled than ever.
“Yes; that’s my name,” he answered. “But—I ought to know that voice, and yet—and yet—”
“Of course you ought,” and, casting all conventionality to the winds, the girl sprang forward, seizing one of his hands in both of hers. “Oh, how thankful I am that we have been the means of saving you! What must you have been through! Welcome—a thousand times welcome!”
“Miss Calmour, surely? Why, of course it is. How glad I am to see you again.” And in the face of this sun-tanned and unkempt-looking savage here under the ship’s lights Delia could detect the same look as that which had glanced down upon her in the park at Hilversea that glowing summer afternoon after the life-and-death struggle with the escaped beast. “I was a passenger on the Baleka, captain,” he went on to explain.
“Passenger on the Baleka were you? Then, my good sir, it’s lucky we’re homeward bound, because your people will be just about beginning to go to law over your leavings,” returned the captain, who was of a cynical bent. “The only passenger missing from her was given up as lost. But—you haven’t been aboard that old hooker ever since, I take it?”
“No; indeed. I’ve had some strange experiences—can hardly believe I’m not dreaming now. What ship’s this?”
“The Runic. White Torpedo line, bound for London from Australian ports.”
“And what of the Baleka’s people? Were they found?”
“Yes; all picked up, some here, some there.”
“Captain,” interrupted that same clear, sweet, fluty voice, “I’m surprised at you. Here’s a shipwrecked mariner been thrown on board, and instead of doing all you can for him you keep him standing here all night answering questions.”