“O God! O God! my poor friends!” groaned Crispin, sinking down in deep despair; while the Rector, stunned with the magnitude of the calamity, could say nothing—not even a word of comfort. Both Mrs. Dengelton and Eunice were weeping bitterly at the thought of their terrible loss; but Gurt, in spite of the smoking volcano before his eyes, sturdily refused to believe that Justinian and his company were dead.
“Don’t ’ee believe it, Mr. Crispin! Mr. Maurice knows a thing or two. If any one’s frizzled, I guess it’ll be them pirates; but Mr. Justinian and Miss Helena!—Lor’, sir, Mr. Maurice ’ull see to ’em!”
At this moment the man on the lookout cried out that there was a boat in sight to the eastward, on which cheering intelligence the hearts of all revived, in the hope that it would prove to be their friends escaped from the fatal island. The yacht’s head was turned towards the speck in the distance, and she steamed ahead at full speed, so as to put an end to all suspense, while every one crowded to the taffrail, in order to catch the first glimpse of the occupants.
“Glory! glory!” yelled Gurt, dancing about in a state of great excitement. “There’s Mr. Maurice, sir! and Dick! What did I tell ’ee, Mr. Crispin! Glory! glory!”
“I don’t see Justinian,” said Crispin anxiously; “but see, there are two women. Those will be Helena and Zoe!”
“Sum’at lyin’ in the boat,” cried Gurt, who had climbed up the weather rigging; “maybe it’s Mr. Justinian. Get her ahead, sir, an’ we’ll soon have ’em on board.”
The Eunice slowed down her engines when she approached the caique, and the anxious faces bending over the side saw that it contained Maurice, Dick, Helena, and Zoe, all frightfully haggard-looking objects, and that at the bottom of the boat lay the form of a man covered with the folds of the Union Jack. The two young men, who seemed quite worn out with fatigue, brought the caique alongside the yacht, and, having passed up the women and the insensible Justinian, climbed on board themselves. Then ensued a scene of heartfelt welcome and congratulations, in which Maurice especially was nearly overwhelmed by the embraces of Crispin and the Rector.
“Is Justinian dead?” asked Crispin, when the first excitement had somewhat subsided.
“No; but I am afraid he is dying!”
“My poor lad!” said the Rector pityingly; “you are quite worn out. Crispin, are you still going on to Melnos?”