Etheridge, Ruth, and Walter Willoughby, therefore, recrossed the island and embarked. The commodore took the helm.
"What boat is that ahead of us?" asked Walter. "Some of our people? Has any one else deserted the sea-beans?"
"I dare say," replied Etheridge, carelessly.
The commodore could manage a boat extremely well; the Owl and the Pussycat flew after that sail ahead, in a line as straight as a plummet.
"Why, it's Mrs. Kip," said Ruth, as they drew nearer. She had recognized the gypsy hat in the other boat.
"Yes, with Albert Tillotson," added Walter.
"What, that donkey?" inquired Etheridge, with well-feigned surprise (and an anger that required no feigning). "He can no more manage a boat than I can manage a comet! Poor Mrs. Kip is in actual danger of her life. The idea of that Tom Noddy of a Tillotson daring to take her out! I must run this boat up alongside, Mr. Willoughby, and get on board immediately. Common humanity requires it."
"The commodore's common humanity is uncommonly like jealousy," said Walter to Ruth when the Owl had dropped behind again after this manœuvre had been successfully executed. "He is a clever old fellow! Of course he knew she was out, and he came with us on purpose. We'll keep near them, Mrs. Chase, and watch their faces; it will be as good as a play."
To his surprise, Ruth, who was generally so ready to laugh, did not pay heed to this. "I am glad he has gone," she said; "for now we need not talk—just sail and sail! Let us go over so far—straight down towards the south." Her eyes had a dreamy expression which was new to him.
"What next!" thought her companion. He glanced furtively at his watch. "I can keep on for half an hour more, I suppose."