“Beggin’ your pardon, gents both, but I dunno the bearin’s of this ’ere island.”
“Go along the mulberry avenue,” said Crispin, as Gurt waited for an explanation, “and when you come to a flight of steps near the tunnel, go down them. When you’re in the village, you’ll soon find out your comrades, and tell them Mr. Roylands and myself will come down to see them this afternoon.”
“Right y’ are, sir,” answered the seaman, going to the door with another nautical salutation. “I don’t want Dick a-comin’ up here to cast anchor aside my little craft.”
“You’ve begun early, Gurt,” observed Maurice, taking a seat. “What is the name of your little craft?”
“Zoe, sir; she’s maid to Miss Helena.”
“Well, you can go away with a contented heart, Gurt,” said Crispin, laughing. “Dick won’t see her if he comes here in your absence. She’s gone up the mountain with her mistress.”
“Right y’ are, sir,” said Gurt again, all of him except his head behind the curtains of the doorway. “I don’t trust Dick. He’s a fly-away chap, gents both, and a deal sight too handsome for my idea, sirs.”
The head vanished, and Crispin laughed uproariously.
“That mahogany image is jealous, Maurice,” he said, throwing himself back in his chair. “Behold the power of love! Why, Zoe wouldn’t look at him; and if that good-looking young bo’swain comes on the scene, I’m afraid old Cyclops’ chance will be but a poor one.”
“Zoe’s gone up the mountain with Helena?”