“What is the use, sir?” said Dick bitterly; “it’s nothing but a heap o’ cinders.”
“Any one still left on the island?”
“Crispin,” said Maurice solemnly, “with the exception of those you see, every soul on the island is dead. I will tell you all soon, but meanwhile I must have something to eat, a bath, and a sleep.”
The women had already carried off Helena and Zoe, to attend to them in their cabin, Justinian was taken down and put to bed, and the yacht’s head was turned back to Syra without delay, in order to obtain a doctor for the dying Demarch.
“Where is Alexandros, Dick?” asked Gurt, as he attended to the wants of the boatswain.
“Fell overboard!” replied Dick sadly; “he got away with us from that cursed island, but, being weak with all his work, tumbled into the water. We tried to save him, but he was so weak that before we could reach him he went down.”
“And that ’ere Count?”
“Oh, a stone from the volcano smashed him up.”
“Served him jolly well right!” said Gurt cruelly. “My eye, Dick, ’ow glad I am t’ see ye, and Zoe too!”
“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Roylands, we’d all have been lost, Gurt!”