“And I used to feel as if I should like to live there always,” said Mark with a sigh. “Let’s get back to the ship.”
The captain gave another glance round, sweeping the surface of the lagoon inclosed by the irregular ring of coral, and then gave orders for their return to the ship.
While the men rowed back Mark tried to picture the scene as it last met his eyes; but turned from the contemplation with a shudder; and it was with a sigh of relief that he once more felt the firm planks of the deck beneath his feet.
“And you mean to tell me,” said Billy Widgeon, as he stroked and patted his monkey’s head one evening during the homeward voyage—“you mean to tell me, Mr Small, as that there island sank outer sight and is all gone?”
“That’s it, Billy,” replied the boatswain.
“But it’ll come up again, won’t it?” said the stowaway.
“That’s more than anybody can tell, my lad,” said Small. “All I know is as she’s gone, and we’re going back home. And a good job too.”
Mark Strong heard these words; and as he sat on the deck that night, beneath the clustering stars, with Bruff’s head in his lap, he too began to think it was a good job they were going home, for his perilous voyaging was drawing to a close, and that solitary sunlit island that shone like a green jewel out of the purple sea was beginning to seem to him as if it had never been.
“Thinking, Mark, my lad?” said a voice at his elbow.
“Yes, father,” said the lad, starting.