Don drew a long breath and took a step forward to march out and give himself up, but Jem’s hands clasped him round, a pair of lips were placed to his ear, and the yard-man’s voice whispered,—
“Stand fast. All sham. He can’t see.”
Don paused, wondering, and watched the dark figure in the entrance to the cave, without dismay now, till, to his surprise, the man began to whistle softly.
“Likely place too,” he muttered. “Are you coming up here, sir?”
“What is it?”
“Likely looking cave, sir; runs right in; looks as if they might be hiding in here.”
There was a rattling and rustling of stones and growth, and then the man at the entrance stooped down and held out his hands to assist some one to ascend, the result being that the broad heavy figure of Bosun Jones came into view.
“Not likely to be here, my lad, even if they were in hiding; but this is a wild goose chase. They’re dead as dead.”
“P’r’aps so, sir; but I think they’re in hiding somewhere. Praps here.”
“Humph! No. Poor fellows, they were drowned.”