Some one else was in a big ulster; a woman—probably Stevan’s wife—a woman in a white coiffe and blue dress was hastening before him, and pointing eagerly to the boat. It was evident that she had an eye for business, and would not lose a passenger who might add a franc or two to her husband’s gains. Mrs Lascelles was vexed.
“We shall wait here all day at this rate,” she said.
Kitty was gathering up her dress, for the boat was wet. The boatman turned to her.
“We start this moment, immediately,” he assured her, apologetically. “There is not a better boat at Locmariaker. We shall soon be across.”
The curé looked round at the green waves and slightly shrugged his shoulders. Kitty herself turned to see the coming passenger. The woman had stopped; she stood with her arms folded under her apron, watching him. He had not run, but had come quickly down, and was close to the boat before Kitty had time to do more than turn a startled face to her mother; he lifted his hat and sprang in, the boy hurriedly shoved off from the weed-covered stones, and the next moment they were out in the tossing bay, with Charles Everitt for their companion.
Chapter Eight.
After All.
Mrs Lascelles would not perhaps have recognised Everitt, whom she had only seen in the chapel, if the disturbance in Kitty’s looks had not at once caused her to leap to a conclusion which absolutely took away her breath. She was quick-sighted enough to see that he was himself as yet unconscious, for Kitty’s face was turned from him, and he was engaged in tucking his ulster round his legs; and even this momentary reprieve was welcome, as it gave her a few instants in which to collect her thoughts. She did not credit him with all the innocence which was rightfully his, for she imagined that he had heard of their travels, and had followed them; and though she was enough of a woman to be conscious of a sneaking kindness for such a daring act, she felt that its audacity would have to be met with displeasure. There would be no help from Kitty. Kitty was actually trembling, and the best mode of treatment would be to ignore the presence of anything at all out of the commonplace, and when the moment of recognition came, refuse to see in it more than a chance and quite uneventful coincidence.