“No one but myself,” replied the same voice. “Pray, pray let me come on board.”
“Who are you, and what do you want?” exclaimed the captain. “Quick! I’ve no time to waste.”
“Let her come on board,” cried Mr Parkley, hastily. “Don’t you know her?” he whispered; “it’s Mrs Pugh.” Then leaning over the side—“Hester, my child, is that you?”
“Yes,” was the hoarse reply. “Mr Parkley, for Heaven’s sake, take me on board.”
“There, I told you so,” exclaimed Mr Parkley; “let down the steps.”
“I tell you it’s some ruse of that cursed Cuban,” cried the captain, angrily. “If you give way we shall be stopped again. Keep that boat off below there.”
“No, no!” cried Mr Parkley. “Stop. Studwick, I take the responsibility on myself. Oakum, lower the steps, and throw that rope.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the old sailor. “Am I to do it?” he continued to the captain.
“Yes, if he wishes it,” was the testy reply; and then in a low voice he said to the mate, “Slip the hawser, and haul up the jib and staysail. I’m going to the wheel.”
His orders were rapidly executed, and the long, graceful vessel began almost imperceptibly to move through the water.