"No," said I; "it floated away from me. What was it?"
"I got up that little scheme," said Mary Phillips, "to quiet her. I told her that a letter might be floated to you that way, and that, anyway, it would do no harm to try. I don't know what she wrote, but she must have said a good deal, for she took a long time about it. I wrapped it up perfectly water-tight. She made the flag herself out of one of her own handkerchiefs with her initial in the corner. She said she thought you would like that."
"Oh, that it had come to me!" I cried.
"I wish from the bottom of my soul that it had," said Mary, compassionately. "It would have done you a lot of good on that lonely ship."
"Instead of which," observed Captain Guy, "some shark probably swallowed it, and little good it did him."
"It put a lot of affection and consideration into him," said Mary, a little brusquely, "and there are other creatures connected with the sea who wouldn't be hurt by that sort of thing."
"There's a shot into me!" cried the captain. "Don't do it again. I cry quarter!"
"I must go," I said, rising; "I can wait no longer."
"Well," said Mary, "you may not be much too soon, if you go slowly."
"But before I go," I said, "tell me this: Why did she not send me some word from Lisbon? Why did she not give Captain Stearns a line on a piece of paper or some message?"