And one of the two officers who directed them called upon the name of God and all His saints to emphasize his amazement.
It was Rattier who held and shook their hands a hundred times. Rattier, incoherent, swearing, every vestige of his taciturnity ravished from him by emotion, plying them with a thousand questions, raining tears upon little John Aylmer's wondering face.
They reached the market square. They looked upon the ruin which covered the devastated earth in the wan light of the slowly coming dawn.
Five miles away, swinging at her mooring opposite the ruined port of Messina was a white-hulled boat—a boat which they looked at with wistfully incredulous eyes. They whispered her name.
"The Morning Star?" they wondered. "The Morning Star?"
"What else?" cried the commandant, exultantly. "That Spanish torpedo boat—did you think nothing was to be heard from her? You disappeared. Two days later comes the news from Malaga of a felucca, going east with prisoners on board. Would that not induce your father, Mademoiselle, to put two and two together? The Melilla port authorities supplied the name of that felucca and her destination—Sicily. He arrived two days back. I have seen him, we spoke together, and then God knows all our energies and thoughts have been with these poor wretches ashore. Down in Messina your own countrymen and the Russians are doing marvels. The Diomède was the only French ship, alas, in harbor, but we have others coming from Tunis, from Algiers, from Marseilles. We need every worker we can get. What you have suffered thousands are suffering still."
Aylmer gave a quick, decided little nod. He looked at Claire.
"You will let one of these sailors see you on board?" he said. "Paul will spare one to escort you."
She looked at him, startled, a little bewildered, even.
"And you?" she asked. "And you?"