Francie looked all round the lake; not a boat was in sight, not even a cottage on the shore from which they might hope for help. She was standing up, pale, now that the tide of excitement had ebbed a little, and shaken by a giddy remembrance of that moment when the yacht heeled over and flung her into blackness.
“I told you you were going to drown me,” she said, shivering and laughing together; “and oh—! what in the name of goodness will I say to Lady Dysart?”
“Oh, we’ll tell her it was an accident, and she won’t say a word,” said Hawkins with more confidence than he felt. “If the worst comes to the worst I’ll swim ashore and get a boat.”
“Oh don’t, don’t! you mustn’t do that!” she cried, catching at his arm as if she already saw him jumping overboard; “I’d be frightened—I couldn’t bear to see you—don’t go away from me!”
Her voice failed pathetically, and, bared of all their wiles, her eyes besought him through the tears of a woman’s terror and tenderness. Hawkins looked at her with a kind of ecstacy.
“Do you care so much as all that,” he said, “you silly little thing!”
After this there was nothing to be done except sit down again, and with her head on his shoulder, allow that fatal anæsthetic to rob him of all considerations beyond Francie’s kisses.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Dinner at Bruff was over. It had been delayed as long as possible in the belief that each moment would bring back the culprits, and it had dragged painfully through its eight courses, in spite of Lady Dysart’s efforts to hasten Gorman and his satellite in their inexorable orbit. Everyone except Garry and Miss Hope-Drummond had been possessed by an anxiety which Lady Dysart alone had courage to express. She indeed, being a person who habitually said what other people were half afraid to think, had dilated on all possible calamities till Cursiter, whose temper was momently becoming worse, many times wished himself on the lake, rowing dinnerless and vengeful on the track of the fugitives.
The whole party was now out of doors, and on its way down to the landing-place, in the dark twilight; Lady Dysart coming last of all, and driving before her the much incensed Gorman, whom she had armed with the gong, in the idea that its warlike roar would be at once a guide and a menace to the wanderers. So far it had only had the effect of drawing together in horrified questioning all the cattle in the lower part of the park, and causing them to rush, bellowing, along by the railings that separated them from the siren who cried to them with a voice so commanding and so mysterious. Gorman was fully alive to the indignity of his position, and to the fact that Master Garry, his ancient enemy, was mocking at his humiliation; but any attempt to moderate his attack upon the gong was detected by his mistress.