Gil Carr’s hot blood danced through his veins, and, in his haste, he forgot to recall the last time they had met, when he was seen side by side with Anne Beckley; and, attributing Mace’s constrained manner to her vexation at being surprised with Sir Mark, he turned upon that gentleman fiercely, to find his glances returned with interest. For there was a look of triumph in the visitor’s eye, and a contemptuous smile on his lip, both of which seemed to say to him, “There, you see you have no chance; I am all conquering, and the day is mine.”
Very few words passed before Mace, who feared a quarrel, said—
“Will you return with me now, Sir Mark? The sun is growing hot, and my father will be waiting.”
He bowed in his most courtly manner, and, taking her hand, helped her over a fallen tree, and again across a rift in the earth, while Gil, trembling with rage, disappointment, and mortification, stood gnawing his lip.
“And this is woman’s faith!” he cried, as he strode away. “Oh, that my ship were fit for sea, or that I had something I could do.”
He stopped, thinking for a few minutes, and then walked away straight for the ravine, partly to pass the time, partly because he felt uneasy about his store; while, sad at heart, poor Mace walked beside her companion, who sighed and never ceased to try and show her how hopelessly he was in love.
It was very unfavourable for the progress of vegetation where Gil Carr strode over the ground, trampling down the tender forest herbage, tearing aside the young growth, and leaving a harsh track through the forest, till, getting nearer to his destination, he seemed to grow more careful, and ended by waking to the fact that any one might easily trace him by his trail.
Altering his mind then, he struck down beside one of the rivulets, and followed its course pretty closely to the river—a small enough stream, but one which at times carried a considerable depth of water.
A mile along here brought him to a busy nook, where, around a goodly-sized vessel, a score of men were hard at work with hatchet and adze repairing and restoring plank and timber that had been torn and riven by the rocks and waves of a long cruise. It was only the hull, every bit of rigging having been removed to lighten her for the men at work; and seated upon a barrel, smoking, giving orders or directions, was Wat Kilby, who rose to make his report on seeing his skipper approach.
Gil did not stay long. He saw that his men were working hard, and that they were well provided for in the sheltered nook by the little river side, which he had made his vessel’s port; and at last, as the evening was coming, entered the boarded hut which formed Wat’s home for the time, partook of a rough meal with him, gave him certain orders, and turned once more towards Roehurst, meaning to go up the ravine on the way.